


island of misfit toys

by hoars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabbles, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, brief glimpses into other universes and the beginning of stories that never quite got off the ground and likely never will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. down boy down

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome-esque relationship between Derek and Stiles. Dubious consent. Unhealthy relationships. Disregards S3.
> 
> General thought process behind this one is: In a world where things like to sneak, creep and possibly try to kill Stiles, Derek protects him. It builds an unbalanced relationship between the two. A relationship where the two stay together not because of fluffy feelings like love and happiness, but because of instinct, trust and survival.
> 
> COMPLETE.
> 
> Title is from Down Boy by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

_down boy down_

Stiles honestly thought he'd be relieved when Derek left Friday with his pack of werewolves for some quality bonding.

Derek had leaned in close, grabbed him by the neck to pull him in and whispered he'd be back on Monday and that Stiles would miss him. Stiles had snorted, because yeah right he was going to miss the deranged creepy fuck. He'd been excited to do the things Derek didn't allow him to do anymore like walk around at night, go somewhere by himself, sleep by alone, go the movies and fucking _masturbate_. Stiles had been excited at the idea of a little independence.

He hadn't been expecting to feel so lost and scared and out of sorts.

Friday night, he had the window open, until he remembered Derek wouldn't be ducking in and closed it. But it didn't feel right and he closed and opened the window half a dozen times before growling and throwing himself back on the bed so hard he bounced. Then, he struggled with the sheets and comforter. On, off, on, off until he huffed and stared at the ceiling. He pointedly did not think of how Derek was usually wrapped so tightly around him, he didn't need anything but the bunched sheets to cover his front. The minutes ticked by, and he couldn't sleep. The bed was empty and cold. Furious with himself, he ripped his pillow and comforter off the bed and stomped downstairs to sleep on the couch.

He vowed to make Saturday better.

He planned on eating shit food, a little self love and catching up on B grade horror movies on Netflix and then seeing if Scott wanted to catch a movie or something to eat.

His Saturday goes more like this:

He jerks awake when he hears his dad's car leave at six AM and can't go back to sleep. His eyelids feel like sandpaper against his eyeballs. He stares at the ceiling for a good hour before getting up. He opens all the kitchen cupboards and fridge and sees nothing worth eating and decides fuck it, he's not hungry anyway. He's alone in the house, so now would be a good time to start some personal time and it just-- his dick is broken. Obviously. Or he should start Viagra at seventeen. Pissed off as hell he can't even get it up, he goes to take a shower. He loses time in there and doesn't even realize the heat is gone from the water.

His day doesn't improve.

The movies he once loved so dearly cause him to doze lightly, and he feels so tired and cold that he doesn't bother to twitch off the couch to text Scott.

When his dad gets home, he grunts, "Not hungry," when asked.

It's enough to make him want to cry.

Sunday is much of the same expect by now he's wised up to how it's going to be and spends the day not-sleeping, not-awake in sweats and hoodie under a blanket with Syfy playing. He wishes now that he hadn't insisted every time Derek came over that he take all evidence of his presence from the house. He's miserable, and he's positive that having something of Derek's to press his nose against would be better. Somehow. It doesn't make a whole of sense, but things really stopped making sense when Derek decided Stiles was his and then left.

Sunday, he spends lonely and yearning.

Monday couldn't come quick enough. Seriously. Stiles isn't going to bother with school, but still dresses in a hurry and leaves his dad blinking in bemusement while he rushes out the door. Derek's whole point of being back Monday was so his puppies wouldn't miss any more class. He should be home, Stiles believes with too much hope breeding into desperation.

There's a house Derek and Peter rent that is the last house before reaching the preserve. Stiles doesn't remember the drive. He's too relieved by the sight of the Camaro; however, to be frightened by that.

The puppies are getting for school because they have class and Isaac at least says hi, but Erica voices the question on everyone's mind, "What are you doing here?"

Stiles ignores her in favor of throwing himself at Derek and pushing his face hard into his neck. He's sure Derek can feel the hot moisture. Not much gets by Derek Hale. The rumbly growl that he always hated because it means he did something Derek liked, that Derek won, does everything to soothe him this time. It's like he can breathe and he's tired and starving in equal measures.

"Is he okay?" Boyd asks.

"He'll be fine. Go to school."

Stiles is manhandled into the house, an impossible warm feeling racing through his chest, even though before Friday he would have snapped about personal space and accused Derek of shady behavior. Now he allows it, lets his bones go liquid because this is good. This is perfect.

He gives in to the food Derek is quietly insisting on and follows Derek meekly to his bedroom, ignoring Peter's amused eyes. Honestly, if quizzed, he couldn't say Peter was even home.

"I missed you."

"I know." Derek soothes. "I'm sorry."

Stiles whines and nods into Derek’s hands, savoring the pull of his skin as Derek’s thumbs swipe down his cheeks. It's a touch Stiles hadn’t known he’d been used to enough to crave, to yearn for, and miss yet over the weekend, he did nothing else but miss it. He felt alone, only him against everything else in the world, the walls he’d been building around himself since people began to want him dead, building back towards the sky so quickly, Stiles felt sick the whole weekend. He hadn’t even been aware he let them down around Derek. That he felt safe enough to let them down.

He clings to Derek know, unwilling to let the werewolf go despite all of Derek’s silent reassurances.


	2. ignoring me the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott forgets about Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching 3.06, I feel almost ashamed of myself for posting this one. 3.06 is official my all time favorite episode. The bromance! Scott is forever redeemed in my eyes now.
> 
> Warnings: Alternate S2. Falling apart friendships. Obliviousness. Relationship imbalance. Underage sex. Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski. Unbeta'ed.
> 
> COMPLETE.
> 
> Title from A Wish by Gregory and the Hawk.

_ignoring me the morning after_

The thing is, Scott didn’t even notice.

He has a lot of excuses: he’s pissed Derek took his chance at normal away, Allison and her family finding out he was a werewolf, _Allison_ , his mom, his grades and lacrosse.

The realization he hasn’t really seen Stiles in weeks comes crashing around him when Allison fake dumps him and he’s suddenly alone at their lunch table.

Stiles isn’t anywhere in the cafeteria, and it strikes Scott suddenly, Allison and he always sat with the lacrosse team. Scott had always assumed Stiles was with them. After all, Stiles stuck with him when Lydia, Jackson and Danny commandeered their table earlier in the year. But with a sharp inhale, he realizes he can’t scent Stiles anywhere in the room and he has no clue where Stiles could have gone.

He tries thinking back, but the days are blurry. He can remember Allison’s tears for her Aunt Kate, the after school make up work, the two hour long practices, his pointed avoidance of Derek and lies to his mom. He can’t think of where Stiles just…disappeared from his life.

With his realization, he’s frantic to find his friend. The wolf inside is howling sounds like sadness and anger and Scott doesn’t know why.

Stiles isn’t at lacrosse practice and when he asks around, Aiden tells Scott Stiles quit the team a week after winter formal. Dread is beginning to eat at him. He opens his eyes in his classes and notices with no small amount of horror, Stiles has been transferred out of all of his classes. When he asks, one of their teachers tells Scott Stiles asked his counselor to place in more advance lessons finally, because the boy had been wasting his intelligence in standard classes. Scott can’t think of the last time he saw Stiles visit his locker.

He’s panicked by this point. He rushes to the Stilinski home, breathless and sweaty and lets himself in.

Stiles and the sheriff aren’t in. His nose and ears tell him that as soon as he enters the home. He takes the stairs to Stiles’ room in a leap, and pushes open the door, not knowing what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t the scent of werewolf that clings to the walls and carpet.

He swallows hard a few times, thinking maybe Stiles was turned too, but he recognizes that smell. A smell he turns away from whenever he encounters. Derek. Stiles always smelt like chemicals and chocolate and coffee beans. Scott can’t find the scent at all. Not even on the bed. All he can smell is the blood, smoke and clove of Derek tainting everything.

The room also smells like sex and Scott doesn’t know what to _do_ with that.

Hold an intervention? Tell Stiles’ dad?

He sits on Stiles’ bed for a long time. It’s dark, reaching towards the AM before Stiles crawls through his window. Scott can smell other scents wrapped around Stiles’ a mess of smells that don’t belong on his friend, but overpowering all of the scents is that of Derek.

Scott can see well enough by the street lamps and glare of an alarm clock. There’s marks around Stiles’ throat, Scott can smell the saliva. When Stiles flips on the desktop lamp, Scott can also see the fingerprint bruises around his throat, the cut on his lip, the blood under his fingernails.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Stiles says. And Scott doesn’t have an answer to that.

“Why?”

“It’s not polite to invade another wolf’s territory.” Stiles shrugs but his eyes are watchful. Calculating in a way Scott is uncomfortable with and has his wolf barring his teeth.

Scott tries to scoff, but he understands it, his wolf understands it, before he can get the words out. Stiles isn’t just talking about his room. Stiles is talking about himself like he’s property or some shit. Stiles is Derek’s territory. “Stiles.” He says instead, pleads a little because he doesn’t know what to do.

“I think you should leave.” Stiles shakes his head. “Now, before, before someone sees you here.”

“Who could see me? Your dad’s out and you just left Derek’s, _obviously_ ,” And Scott can’t hide the sneer as much as he’d like.

“Derek always has one of the pups shadow me home.” Stiles shrugs like that makes any sense. Scott wants to shake his friend and ask him what the ever loving fuck because that’s not normal.

“What the fuck?” Scott isn’t sure what he pissed more about. The fact there’s more werewolves or that Stiles knew and didn’t tell Scott.

“Well, after the close call with the kanima, Derek thought it’d be best.” Stiles says and he begins to undress. “You should leave. I think Isaac was on guard duty tonight and he doesn’t really like you.”

“Kanima? What’s a kanima? And Isaac? Lahey?” _What_?

"You've missed a lot." Stiles shrugs. "Guess you should have been paying attention."


	3. from the knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from a TW kink meme. Stiles is a born submissive werewolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Allusions to mpreg, Werewolf!Stiles, alternate S1, unbeta'ed, COMPLETE

_from the knees_

There’s a lot of things about Stiles that don’t add up that Derek didn’t have the time to ferret out, especially as the alpha kept killing people and fucking Kate was in town. He mostly shoves his instincts that tells him something isn’t right away and focuses on surviving. It’s only when he’s busy trying not to think about Laura, Peter and Kate that he devotes a little time to understanding why Stiles alerts the wolf as something…not wrong but not quite right either. Like Stiles is more than he’s letting on.

Stiles smells like sage and rosemary and lavender. Stiles smells like his dad and Scott and little of Derek. Stiles doesn’t smell like anything else. It’s disconcerting. Everyone has another layer of scent. Laura had smelt like the wind and licorice and werewolf under all the other scents like pollution, Derek and the smoke from her boyfriend’s cigarettes. Scott’s scent is Argent, his mother, grass stains, werewolf and water. Scott does not smell like Stiles. Scott does not smell like Stiles because all Stiles smells like are a bunch of herbs that push at Derek. Stiles doesn’t even smell _human_.

Stiles’ scent is one of many things that has Derek suspicious that something is up. Another is the boy’s information. Stiles can cite the internet and some books at the library all he wants, no outsider could pick up that many accurate things about werewolves without having insider knowledge.

Knowledge that Stiles apparently tried cramming down Scott’s throat when he noticed what was happening to his friend (and whose logical, sane first conclusion was werewolf in this day and age?) if Scott’s not so private bitching was any indicator. Stiles had warned Scott not to smile with his teeth, to show difference to Derek, to submit if backed into a corner if Derek demanded it. And that was when Derek was a beta. Sure, he had been a high ranking beta, as high up the totem pole as you could get without being an alpha, but Stiles shouldn’t have known, couldn’t have possibly read about the respect and submissive behavior Derek’s position would have required of his pack.

The fourth isn’t even something Stiles did. Peter’s memories though, they are leaking into Derek’s brain, demanding his attention on how to best handle his inherited pack (Scott – Stiles, Stiles has been his since Derek protected him from Peter).  Peter’s memories, emotions when he saw Stiles for the first time on a field, had been glee and desire. Peter had wanted Stiles so badly Derek is surprised Stiles wasn’t bitten himself.

It’s what makes him tentatively come to a conclusion.

Peter wouldn’t have to bite to someone who was already a werewolf.

His wolf is certain that this must be the answer while Derek is a little more uncertain. Why hadn’t Stiles said anything? Why hadn’t Stiles protected himself against Peter at the hospital? Why was Stiles hiding?

Scott may not be in Derek's pack the empathic, "Fuck you! You ruined any chance I had at being normal!" Made that very clear and Derek, Derek would only want Scott in his pack for two reasons, to be stronger and to draw Stiles in. And since Stiles is technically already his, Derek doesn't really need Scott.

The bond between pack members is hard to describe. It's like there's a part of his brain devoted completely to the other wolf. Derek's mind doesn't actively see into it at all times of the day, but sometimes, sometimes his mind actively seeks the hard edges of another mind and he senses all he needs to know about his other pack member. He senses worry, fear, love, affection, helplessness. He knows the status of his pack member, mostly healthy but needs more sleep than three hours. Derek knows _where_ his pack member is.

Derek finds himself slipping into Stiles' room through the window, the other wolf waiting for him, his mind screaming his fear at Derek but his scent not giving a single thing away. Stiles must be able to feel Derek in his brain too and he's curious if Stiles knows as much about Derek as he knows about Stiles. The other wolf is sitting on the bed, completely tense and breathing heavily.

Derek doesn't know what to do, so he does something and hopes for the best.

"You're a werewolf." He says it like a fact and Stiles nods jerkily, still not looking Derek in the eyes. "Why are you hiding it?"

Derek can hear Stiles swallow. "Would you believe me if I said because of the hunters?"

Derek thinks about it. Derek probably would have been fooled by the hunters excuse if it wasn't for the sage, rosemary and lavender that ate away at Stiles' scent. Hunters can’t smell the difference between werewolves and humans. If Stiles was a born wolf like Derek suspected, he would have learnt the truth behind the Hale fire from his werewolf parent. He would know the hunters left.

"No."

"I--my mom trained me, to keep it hidden. She said it wasn't safe, that I wasn't safe around other werewolves." There's a whispered conversation between Laura and the Queens' pack alpha that's nudging at him and the feel of Peter's glee that has Derek's world reeling for all of ten seconds before he batches that shit down and breathes.

There's only one type of werewolf that would try hiding from other werewolves. A submissive wolf. An incredibly rare werewolf that packs have been known to kidnap, raid other packs, rape, murder, do utterly detestable things for a submissive wolf. They were valuable for many things, but Derek could only think of one that would cause Stiles to feel so close to terror and nausea.

"Stiles." Derek says very deliberate. "You are in my pack. You are under my protection. No one will force mate or breed you."

Stiles jerks up and Derek hopes he's listening to his heart and that it didn't blip once.

Submissive wolves, they could breed no matter their gender. They could fucking shift completely and their actual wolf form was the opposite sex. If Stiles wanted, he could carry and have a litter of cubs.

"I--" Stiles is swallowing hard again, breathing heavily still but the bond between pack members is letting Derek know he's feeling hopeful.

Derek really has to talk to Stiles about not wearing that herbal shit. He hates not being able to scent the air and smell what Stiles is feeling. It's annoying.

"I'll protect you. No one will ever touch you unless you want them to." Derek promises.

Stiles' amber eyes are staring deeply into his own, gauging Derek. Judging him. Derek isn't sure he's going to pass whatever requirements the other wolf has until he does and Stiles sags a little, whimpers a little and bares his throat to Derek.

Derek is careful, not wanting to spook his pack member and holds the vein in Stiles' neck between his teeth for three long beats.

His wolf is satisfied and happy. Stiles has accepted his position in Derek's pack. Stiles has accepted Derek as his alpha.

It warms him, grounds him because now Derek has a responsibility, a duty to protect his pack to the best of his ability.

Derek wants to wrap Stiles in his scent to warn others Stiles is Derek's and Derek will rip apart anyone that dares to try and take him from Derek's pack. Derek wants to force Scott into his pack because betas are the protectors and hunters of the pack. Actually, Derek likes the sound of more betas in his pack a lot. More than he probably should and he knows in the next instant he'll be on the lookout for candidates for the bite tomorrow. Maybe Jackson. He's young and athletic. He should survive the bite and the wolf.

"What happens next?" Stiles asks.

But that's tomorrow and now Derek's pack is only this frightened kid that has probably been alone since his mom died.

"Tell me. Tell me everything. I need to know how to care for you." And Derek knows he's making Stiles' sound like an exotic pet that needs its own care-sheet but submissive wolves are something Derek has no experience with and has no room for error. If Derek fucks up, Stiles could run.

Stiles tells him about his mom. How she was a submissive werewolf her entire life but left her pack when her father died in a dominance battle and her safety became compromised. How she meet his dad and was astounded to learn this human man could settle her senses. How she had Stiles and taught him to hide. How she wasted away when her pack's alpha finally caught up with her and paid her betrayal with a gypsy curse. How Stiles' human dad had to be the alpha force in his life so he wouldn't shift. How the panic attacks started because even if his mom had been a submissive wolf, she'd still been his mom and grounding force in his life.

Derek pays attention to it all.

He learns Stiles will take his cues from the pack bond and Derek's body language. He learn Stiles will shift into a Tibetan wolf on the full moon -- a woolly wolf with golden fur that Derek's hand sinks into. The wolf has a vicious set of fangs and claws that rival Derek's and when they run together, Derek loses sight of the wolf in a few leaps.

Stiles is regaining his characteristic flair and energy when he excitedly tells Derek all this and shows off, but carefully steers away from why his teeth and claws are more dangerous than Derek's or why Stiles doesn't have the strength Derek does but has a speed that blows Derek away. Derek lets him get away with it. Any mention of breeding, even future breeding has Stiles quiet and wary like he's expecting an attacker from the bushes. One thing Derek does not commend the late Mrs. Stilinski for is the fear she ingrained in her son. It will take Derek time to root out all Stiles' fears against dominant wolves and to teach him the correct ones to be wary of but never fear.

Derek is invited to dinner after Derek visits the Sheriff while Stiles is in school. Derek knocked on the door, and explained he was there because of Stiles and the man invited Derek in. It only takes Derek an hour to explain the situation, what's been happening in sleepy, blood stained Beacon Hills and what it means for Stiles to be in his pack. The Sheriff is, not relieved, but something close to it.

The man insists on getting to know Derek however and from the stories Stiles' mother told Stiles, Derek can't blame him especially if he's heard even one of those stories.

"This is so bizarre. My dad and my alpha are sitting at the table eating milk and Oreos. My life."

"We planned on chicken salad for dinner but if it's too weird for you..." The Sheriff trails off and smirks when Stiles shakes his head rapidly.

"His instincts," The Sheriff begins quietly while Stiles is upstairs thumping around and calling it homework. "Make him want to take care of his people. Keep them healthy. The kid hardly lets me drink coffee anymore but a man's gotta draw the line somewhere."

Derek nods and stores this information away. It is in Stiles to care. He's meant to have pups and raise and care for them. Technically, in any pack but the one Derek wants to build, that would be Stiles' only job. Instincts are hard to ignore. They eat at you until you obey. And it gives Derek an idea.

He finds Isaac at the graveyard on one of his trips to visit Laura. He doesn't say anything to the kid, nods to him sometimes but otherwise takes no notice of him because he has Stiles to look after and the ache of no pack is slight. After his dinner with the Stilinksis however, Derek looks at Isaac with new eyes.

The kid is young, Stiles' age, and twitchy. He smells like blood, alcohol, rage, sorrow, fear, grass, soil and granite. Derek can guess towards his home life. Derek drags Stiles to the graveyard to meet him, wondering what his pack mate will think.

"You wanted me to meet Isaac?" Stiles blinks.

Derek and Stiles are staring at Isaac from the top of a pit, the other kid at the bottom of the hole digging. Isaac looks up so quickly he cracks his neck.

Derek says nothing. Maybe Stiles will figure it out on his own. The kid is sharp and is using his senses more than he had been now that he's not trying to forget that he's a werewolf.

"Stiles?" Isaac sounds uncertain. Afraid.

It takes twenty minutes of Stiles breathing softly at Derek's side, Isaac afraid but not running for Stiles to say anything.

"I--I want to keep him safe." Stiles says and looks a little lost as he does.

Derek nods, satisfied.

"Isaac, we want to help you." Derek lets that sink in, feels Stiles emanating reassurance at his side. "We want you to be a part of our pack."

Stiles doesn't like Jackson so Derek doesn't offer the boy the bite even if Derek thinks he'd make a strong wolf. If Jackson turned and attacked Stiles, Derek would be breaking his promise.

He turns Erica and Boyd though.

The blonde was ill and was affectionate of Stiles. Derek didn't want to say he turned her to give Stiles' a security blanket and new friend, but the absence of Scott in Stiles' life is as clear as the divide between Derek and Scott.

Boyd he changes for his own purposes. Isaac and Erica are strong and slowly coming into their own. They are happy to be strong and Derek can often hear them running through the woods, at Stiles' heels testing their new strength. And they will be strong betas in a few months. Wiry and fast fighters with the strength Stiles lacks. They are soldiers and every pack needs a tank. Derek doesn't feel right until he can feel Boyd's consciousness pricking at his own. Now his pack has a protector.

A caretaker, two defenders and two aggressors if Derek is included.

They visit the Stilinski house a lot. Their scent getting into the house and staining at as theirs and Derek is invited to live there when the Sheriff catches wind of the hunters.

 _Gerard Argent_.

Derek has heard whispers of the man since he was teenager, especially after Kate. The man is older but still strong. He wields a broadsword with an ease that doesn't belong in this era. He is also a vicious hunter. He spooks Derek. Argents aren't always the most mental sane. Even Chris Argent isn't completely sane.

He would prefer they never come, but Derek doesn't expect to be given the things he wants.

They'll be ready.


	4. candy bar creep show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein TW characters are compared to candy you would find by a cash register across from the impulse purchases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Feversick, COMPLETE
> 
> Title from Bones by MS MR.

_candy bar creep show_

Peter was like a Rolo.  
  
He was like the caramel in the middle of the candy that got absolutely everywhere. People wanted to eat him and like him, but that draw back always made people wonder if they could really enjoy a Peter Rolo. You needed time and running water to really enjoy and savor a Peter Rolo.  
  
Allison was like cotton candy.   
  
She was delicious the first few bites. Then she made your teeth and stomach ache. Every fair holiday, Stiles would eat as much as he could and then puked sugary pink everywhere. He loved it, but it was a hard love with the knowledge a little was best and the hint of vomit on his tongue.  
  
Erica was pop rocks.  
  
She was sweet even when she popped and scared you. There was also the legend of pop rocks and a coke killing you and like Erica, you couldn't be sure she wouldn't. Not unless you tried her and trusted the word of others. Stiles used to be reckless enough to do it. Before he developed a new appreciation for breathing and living.   
  
Boyd was Hershey's  milk chocolate.   
  
Just the thing you needed because it was so simple and simplicity was its own amazing. But it wasn't always what you wanted. Boyd chocolate was something you only craved once in awhile even when he's the one you should pick because it's better for you.   
  
Isaac was Reese's cups.  
  
Gooey chocolate making your tongue thick and clumsy. He’s so shy. Stiles has seen girls coo over his “bad boy front” and his shyness. It would make Stiles a little envious if he didn’t know why Isaac was the way he was. If he didn’t know whose behavior Isaac was modifying his behavior behind. That’s a road he doesn’t want to go down. But everyone fought for the last Reese’s buttercup. Stiles and Scott had a showdown the day after Halloween when they were eight. Yeah. Isaac was a lot like that.  
  
Scott was milk chocolate M&Ms.  
  
A special simplicity but so many colors and categories. It used to be a game they'd play, separating all the colored MnMs into piles. They'd split the groups and eat them in handfuls until their teeth were green or blue from the dye. Scott could be so different all the time. It makes Stiles sad. He’s used to his friend being only the green M&Ms, yet here he is constantly red. Scott tries so hard to be everything to everyone. Why couldn’t Scott just be the M&M he wanted to be?  
  
Jackson was a Payday.  
  
Too many layers. Complicated. A Payday doesn’t seem complicated. It’s peanuts and caramel. What’s complicated about it? Except for the peanuts that fall off and leave a guy sad and hungry because he has a candy bar that's falling apart. And the caramel that gets stuck in teeth and causes pain when you try flossing it out or using a toothpick. Not that Stiles had to do any of those things. Well. Maybe once. Jackson is like that. He’s falling apart. Peanut by peanut. And he gets stuck in your teeth and hurts you because he’s a complicated bastard of a candy bar.  
  
Lydia was a York peppermint patty.   
  
Refreshing and cool. Not everyone’s cup of tea. She’s so cruel and mean. Stiles would call her evil. He has no illusions about her personality. Evil and honest and smart and amazing. Her shiny bag is misleading. Stiles got a York patty once when he was little. He loved the reflective package and had taken a giant bite. It was chocolate. He spit it back out because ow. He wasn’t expecting an overload of that stuff. Like Lydia. So pretty on the outside but inside -- She doesn’t care who she pisses off because no matter what she’s still going to be her. She’s un apologetic that she’s a peppermint patty. She’s more inclined to tell a person “fuck you” than “I’m sorry.” It’s what Stiles admires about her the most.  
  
Derek was a Snickers bar.

The guy has layers. He’s messy like Peter. So many issues Stiles is sure Derek could keep an army of psychologists employed everyday for a decade and they still wouldn’t reach the root of his caramel center. He’s partially chocolate too. A little misleading on the outside about what’s inside exactly, but he’s like Isaac, Scott and Boyd. With the chocolate. Because it’s simple and deep down, Derek is a simple guy. Werewolf. He’s all about pack, grrrr, protecting people, against evil hunters, tragically sad. Simple. His motivations are not questionable. Ever. Stiles can usually follow Derek’s thought pattern. And he was a good guy. Even if he was kind of an asshole about it. He’s saved their lives a lot. Not because he has to but because he doesn’t want them dead. That’s pretty chocolate of him. But then there was the peanuts like Jackson. Peanuts were way complicated. Even in ground up form. Because Jackson and Isaac and Derek could form a bro-club called WE ARE ISSUES OUR HAVE ISSUES. Or something. What Stiles is trying to say is Derek is a delicious surprising bite of yummy and complications.

“What does that make you like?” Lydia asks.

Stiles jumps slightly in surprise. The candy he’s been staring at for the past five minutes while they wait in line swimming in his vision. He doesn’t feel well. Like everything is fuzzy and moving. He’s on a boat or something or the world is spinning off its axis. This isn’t normal.

“He’s a Kit Kat bar.” Isaac says.

Stiles turns towards his voice in surprise. When did Isaac get here? But that couldn’t be right. Isaac was holding him up. Stiles is coming to the realization, maybe, he wouldn’t be able to stand if Isaac wasn’t holding him. Huh. How did that happen?

“I am?” He asks instead of 'where are we.'

“Yeah.” Isaac smiles. “You give everyone a break. You give pieces of yourself away.”

“Oh.” Stiles says. He turns pleading towards Lydia. “I don’t feel good.”

“We know, baby.” Lydia says, her mouth tight and worried. “You have a fever. We’ll get you somewhere safe, okay?”

“Okay.” He says faintly, turning his face into her pretty hair.

What was he thinking?


	5. lime green jello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek hates Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Post S2 but no S3 spoilers or references, jealousy, ubeta'ed, COMPLETE

 

_lime green jello_

Derek hates Scott.   
  
Scott --   
  
He's so fucking dumb. He's a moron who doesn't realize how good he has it. What took him a few months to master? Took Derek and his cousins years. Scott has a pack that would gladly die for him.  
  
He has his mom's love even with being a terror. He has a mom. He has the sheriff to give him a stern frown when needs it and a clap on the back. He has Peter. Peter had wanted Scott when he didn't want Derek or Laura. He has Allison Argent. Pretty hunter willing to shame her family and pass along the mantle to her cousin. Just so she could be with him. There's Stiles who Scott nearly kills on a daily basis but still stands by his back, loyal enough to form a pack bond between the two.   
  
Scott has everything Derek has ever wanted.  
  
He really, really hates Scott.   
  
(Derek used to be like Scott. Happy and given everything he wanted to keep being happy. That's why he won't actively destroy Scott. Scott will do that all by himself. Alienate the hunter and turn her into a rage monster. Mother and pseudo father finally playing house. Isaac driving a wedge between Scott and Stiles. Derek won't have to lift a finger.)


	6. no sex pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only those that agree to the sex pact are compelled to stand by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Underage sex, silly, come play(?), voyeurism, exhibitionism, alternate and happy timeline where no one dies and everything is perfect, COMPLETE

_no sex pact_

It starts with a conversation between Allison and Lydia.

It snowballs from there.

Lydia asked if Allison if she and Scott had a date Friday night. Innocent enough question with innocent enough intentions even with Lydia being Lydia. All she wanted to know was if Allison wanted to go bowling that night, maybe grab dinner.

Allison had said something about plans with Scott that night, and Erica butted in by that point, saying what Allison really meant was Scott and Allison would be fucking in Scott’s mom’s car. Allison, not liking or hating the werewolf female, said it wasn’t like that at all.

Lydia liking Allison, had asked if Scott and her been on any dates since she put out. Allison had shifted uncomfortably and Erica snorted.

From there, somehow, Stiles and Danny ended up sitting behind the two enraged females who were making some awesome points about feminism and sex and to be honest, Stiles didn’t like what he was hearing. It sounded a lot like Stiles being sexless for uncertain amount of time after he started getting it regularly.

Not cool.

***

“Do we have anymore cheese?” Erica asked, peering into the fridge.

“If there is any, it’s in the fridge.” Derek shrugged from the counter he was leaning both palms against, pursuing the classifieds.

Isaac tapped his pencil against his homework. “Put it on the list.” He grunted.

“Still upset about getting suspended from the lacrosse team?” Erica cooed.

Isaac twitched and Derek closed his eyes, already having heard this fight once since they’ve been home. Thankfully they were interrupted by the squeak of tires and hurried footsteps and just focusing on that heartbeat eased Derek’s headache.

“What’s he doing here? Practice is until five.”

Erica began to wrinkle her nose, like she might sneeze and Derek pushed from the counter, anticipating his mate and Stiles burst into the kitchen, breathing hard, sweat trickling down the side of his face. Derek had time to blink before he was shoved against the counter, Stiles’ tongue in his mouth, his hands fumbling for Derek’s jean button and zipper.

Isaac squeaked and Erica is staring, butter knife in her hand with mayo on it and Stiles pulls his mouth away to drop to his knees and Derek’s brain is still stuck on his mate molesting him in front of two of his betas that Stiles is already licked and mouthing his dick through his boxers.

“We’re gonna leave. Go grocery shopping or something.” Isaac declares, grabbing Erica when he realizes she isn’t following.

“What? If he cared he would have told us to leave.” She protested.

Derek can’t even watch them go, eyes on his mate’s face, completely stunned. He doesn’t even last long, which seems to be Stiles’ intent. “Stiles.” His come landing on Stiles’ face. His mate emanating satisfaction and contentment and Derek drags him up, licking the strings of white off his face.

“What was that?”

“Lydia and Allison went to the movies.” Stiles hummed. “Scott and Jackson are at lacrosse practice.”

Derek laughs softly, things clicking into place, “What happened to the no sex pact?”

“All parties must agree for it to be a pack.” Stiles counters. “I didn’t agree.”


	7. dower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dower: the gift/quilt every parent makes their child upon realizing there will be a should a.k.a. another soulmate trope story.

"We're only having the one kid." Claudia bitches. "Motherfucker."

"No one can accuse you of not putting your blood and tears into it." John jokes with his pregnant wife.

She gives him a dark look before muttering all the things she'll do to him with the needle and thread while he sleeps. Laughing, he takes the nearly complete dower from her including needle and thread. He isn't afraid of his wife. He'd use the word _cautious_ but genuinely afraid, no. She may take great pleasure at torturing him, but she'd never severely harm him.

His dower has told him since he was small that his lover would be headstrong, vicious and smart. The colors of the quilt -- deep reds for passion and purple for royalty -- and the image his own parents had crafted for him before he was born was a tigress. His dower had been simple with little clues as to who he was looking to spend his life with. Thankfully, Claudia's dowry was explicitly detailed. Her quilt was a dark green with a brown border and a white star. The colors representing his down to earthiness and honesty and stability. In the white star was shiny gold thread detailing parts of his life, including his name. "My parents," she explained. "Are gifted." She frowned at the dower in her lap. "Unfortunately, it seems I am as well."

The quilt they were both working on is a kaleidoscope of images. Because John helped create each scene of his little son's soulmate's life, it isn't as confusing as it would be to a stranger. There was a fire in corner, creeping into the rest of the quilt in red/orange veins. The main colors of the quilt are blue, black and grey with splashes of purple. The quilt had information like his son's soulmate's birthday, or what John hoped was his birthday. It'd suck if his kid was stuck with someone even older than the already six years. The quilt also revealed other important dates and little data of information. The overall quilt formed a picture of a gray wolf with blue eyes -- "shouldn't they be yellow?" John asks. "No." Claudia sniffs. "Yellow eyes are for pussies." -- and the moon and purpleblueblack night sky. It's an odd dower but no more odd than the dower blanket his parents made for him detailing Claudia's life.

The moment they realized Claudia is pregnant, they went to the closest fabric store. Holding her pregnancy test in her hand like a sword, Claudia considers all the fabrics with a heavy frown. John browses the needles with apprehension because this was going to be his legacy to his child. He's going to be a father. Someone's daddy. He breaks from his horrified stupor when Claudia very clearly says, "This all sucks. We need o go somewhere with decent fabric and not this shit." The woman stocking the thread glares at his wife, but Claudia simply raises her eyebrow and points her pregnancy test at the cards of fraying cloth, challenging the woman to argue.

"Where would you like to go?" He asks. "We could go to Maeve's in Sunnydale. Or Burson's."

"Let's go to Leto's." Claudia decides. "They may be four hours away but at least our baby's soulmate won't be embarrassed of our efforts."

Leto's is a fabric store that makes Claudia touch all the cloth boards and their checking account squeal in protest. John is a little morose. All of their savings, all his overtime and bonuses _gone_. He hopes his child's soulmate is worth the extra effort. It's one thing to say his child deserves nothing less than the best and a completely different thing for their efforts to be wasted on a dick. Especially since he would be unable to buy the new video game everyone swore up and down was amazing.

_The graphics_.

"Stop pouting." His wife orders. "You can buy your stupid game when it goes on sale." Claudia stares at him and his cramping hand that holds their debit card. "This is our baby.

"Any chance that the baby isn't mine?" He asks a little hopeful. Then he won't have to spend so much.

"Not a chance." Claudia said. "You know how my lesbian lover feels about children."

"Damn it."

The kid, when he's born, is alright. He mostly sleeps and eats. He never cries, but watches everything with serious eyes like he's actually seeing and trying to figure out the world. John doesn't care what Claudia's baby books say. Baby Ino-- Inokent- Stiles is aware of the world and thinks it's amazing.

"You are so gone over him." Claudia says the third time he willing changed Stiles' diaper in a row. "It makes me love you a little more."

John returns her silly smile with one of his own.

They take to calling the baby Stiles, a little Stilinski, because Claudia insists on naming her child Destro and John's looking for something a little more normal. Maybe Nathan. It's an argument neither one of them is going to win because Claudia's name is Claudia and John's name is John. There's bound to be issues. They decide a challenge to name their child is in order. Whoever finishes Stiles dower gets to name him.

"And that's why you're named after your grandpa." Claudia always scowls. "Because he's an interfering codger."

"Aren't you glad we kept the baby name as a nickname?" John asks.

Their little son, five years old and curious about the name his teacher called him and wanted him to learn to spell, is staring at them with his mouth open slightly. Drool is escaping his mouth and John peers into his son's eye to see if he's awake.

"I think we bored him into a coma." John says a little fascinated.

"My father is a boring man." Claudia agrees. "Stiles is very intelligent to recognize that early."

They pack the finished dower in a plastic bag to protect it from moths and dust that and take it out twice a year for Stiles to inspect. Claudia and John may have made it, but there's always images only a soulmate can see. Some traditions like the John's family believes in putting the dower away for the child's soulmate. Only taking the dower out a few time a year to study for clues. Claudia's family has its own tradition of allowing their children to use the dowers until the day they gave them to their soulmates. They compromise and bring it out on Christmas and his birthday.

They mean to follow the best of both traditions, but when Stiles finds his dower under their bed at four and refuses to let them reclaim it, John gives in with grace.

The Sitilinskis meet the McCalls on a late Friday night.

John is answering a domestic house call when he first meets Melissa. Her eye is black and she has a busted lip that John does his best not to see because there's a man beyond her with a beer in hand and a charming smile. He's a handsome man of Latino descent. The man seems the type to charm every woman he met, probably encouraged by his mother.

"Hello." He greets pleasantly even as he mentally plans to deliver this woman from her abuser in a voice that sounds a lot like Claudia's. "I apologize, but I'm here about a noise compliant."

The man invites him in a 'he has nothing to hide' gesture and a harmless shrug.

John may not have been able to arrest Mr. McCall if not for tiny Scott who saw John is the deputy greens and tumbled into John's legs and began sobbing about how police help people because they're nice and his daddy is hurting mommy. Please make it stop. John learns one thing about Scott that remains true until the five year old dies at the age of ninety-eight. He will always try to protect the people he cares about, damn the consequences. Even when those consequences could really get him hurt or the people he's trying to protect.

"He's a little boy." Melissa begins, licking her lips nervously. Her husband is still smiling and John wants to inform him the smile is making John more suspicious. Not less.

"That may be," John says calmly. "But the state of California must treat every compliant like real one regardless of age." He forms an apologetic face. "One of you will also be spending the night in lock up. No official arrest but to prevent alleged disturbances from escalating, we like separating the two in question."

Scott and Melissa come home with John under the disguise of providing Scott with a temporary foster home. Claudia takes one long look at Melissa and Scott before steering the little boy to the kitchen, informing him he had a choice between milk and cookies or a sliver of pie and hot chocolate.

The boys strike a quick friendship that evening. Giggling like thieves or pirates. Remembering that night constantly brings a smile to his mouth or laugh, depending on the situation he remembers in.

Strangely, what he really remembers about that night is Claudia's amber stare directed at Melissa. His wife is strong and fierce, but she has a soft side. He doesn't know why Claudia didn't help calm Melissa down. John really doesn't like to handle women's tears, and Melissa's soaked his shirt.

And then Claudia abruptly broke from her spell to rescue John.

It's an evening he remembers when he finds a dower in a box under their bed with a note. "I will always be the love of your life. You will miss me every day. But I am not cruel and have always wanted your happiness, John. Let her love you and our son. You always have my blessing. I love you." The quilt is black with pictures of sparrows flying around a family tree with her name crossed out and his name joining Melissa's, Scott and Stiles underneath as their offspring with branches extending from their names for their soulmates. He stares at it, stunned. Claudia made him a widower's dower. He sits on what used to be their bed for a long time, breathing hard with his eyes burning. His heart bursting with love for Claudia.

"You always were too good for me." He tells her ghost.

John watchs his son grow wrapped around the quilt.

Six years old and Stiles insists it go to kindergarten too. "At least the first day." He begs. So they put the dower in a plastic vacuum bag. One of the ones to conserve space.

Seven years old and Stiles is showing the dower off to Scott McCall. His first friend to sleep over. "And this is a fire!" Stiles happily explains.

Eleven years old and Stiles is inspecting every inch of his dower, glancing at a class photo with eyes only for a red haired little girl. "Think this fire could really be her hair?" Stiles asked critically. Sharing amused looks, John and Claudia explain how old they knew Stiles' soulmate to be, and the differences between admiration and respect and love.

Thirteen years old and Stiles wraps the dower around himself and cries. John tries to help, but he's too angry and hurt and lost to comfort the son that reminds him of Claudia. He can't believe she's gone and too many times, he's turned around excepting her or flips around in bed to pull her into his arms.

John doesn't say anything when the dower becomes a constant on Stiles' bed. What could he say? Your traditionalist grandparents would be rolling in their graves? They died when Stiles was three.

Stiles is sixteen and a teenager. He lies, sneaks out and gets in criminal trouble. John misses Claudia and wishes he could turn to her and ask her what he can do. The only thing preventing John from losing the delicate control of the situation and his desperation is Stiles will still wrap himself in the dower.

Then one morning it's gone.

John doesn't notice right away.

He just realizes it's gone one day when he passes Stiles' room. A plain blue and gray comforter in its place. He stares from the doorway for nine minutes, wondering, where is it? Did he put it away? Is it in the Jeep? At Scott's?

He doesn't ask.

And aburptly a quilt of a fox staring at the moon appears.

From the doorway, John can tell it's patchwork. Every piece of the fox, the ground his paws and tail are settled against, the night backdrop of purples and blues, the full moon is a different piece of fabric. There's black swirls embroidered, only noticeable because they're doubled, in the sky, masquerading as stars.  The entire quilt alive with texture done by clever needles. by John wants to look closer, but his son's room feels--

It feels like trespassing.

It doesn't stop him from wondering about it, curious if he asks if Stiles will lie about it. John wonders why this odd quilt replaced his dower and how he'll speak to his son. He hasn't been able to talk to Stiles for weeks. A barrier preventing him from doing so. 'Man up and talk to him, damn it.' Claudia whispers in his head. 'If he's lying, he thinks it's important.'

Where Stiles' dower is doesn't even rate on things to care about in the wake of getting called by Nurse Rey because his son was found beaten in the woods with a broken arm and trachea so bruised Stiles can't speak. Just stare sullen.

Tentative, Dr. West speaks to John about possible sexual assault.

"We just don't know." Dr. West says. "He won't let us examine him closer. He became very agitated."

"Why would you--?"John asks, sick and furious.

"He has scratches at his hips. Bite marks." Dr. West says. "When he came to, he kicked everyone but Nurse McCall out."

Stiles refuses to speak to him.

John tries everything. Anger. Disappointment. Fear. Nothing gets through to him. He just stares, pressing his mouth closed and displaying his injuries with pride.

Dr. West recommends Stiles stay until his throat heals to avoid any complications. John tries to stay, but with Stiles freezing him out and no leads in who the hell beat his kid, it's better he doesn't. Instead he goes looking for the bastard who did this to his son.

John meets Peter Hale at a twenty-four hour diner. Under normal circumstances, and indeed after John has had time to think, he would have been immediately suspicious and on guard. As it is, his son is asleep in a hospital bed medicated to bad heaven with a broken arm, more bruised skin than flesh colored and claw gouges in his chest. John isn't thinking very clearly beyond 'everyone wants me to believe a mountain lion attacked my son and everyone is lying.'

Even Melissa.

The McCalls are generally very loyal and trustworthy people. A good thing too as their faces always give them away. Melissa flinched when she tells him Scott told her Stiles was attacked by a mountain lion. Scott, when John cornered Scott down, instantly knew by the deep breaths and clenched fists Melissa had been lying and Scott knew who hurt Stiles. When John had asked, Scott only clenched his jaw and refused to answer anything but, "Mountain lions did it."

John sort of hated both McCalls right now. Ignoring how in the past few weeks John had been certain he was falling in love with Melissa. (Claudia had been right, of course. Melissa -- she didn't compare to Claudia. At all. No one could, but Melissa's soul reached out to touch the parts of him Claudia's never understood completely.) They knew what happened to Stiles and were deliberately keeping it from him. It was enough to make him start arresting on account of obstruction of justice.

"I was there." Peter Hale says after John has put his coffee down. "When your son was attacked."

At least, John muses later, Peter had been polite enough to make sure he'd put the coffee down and swallowed. John still almost chokes on his saliva and nearly topples from his chair to look at Peter, but it has never been a secret Stiles gets his grace from John. Many residents pray for the day Stiles matures like John did. Often darting looks of desperation and hope between Stiles and John.

"What?" John manages past his burning throat and watering eyes. "You know who did it?"

Hale smiles to himself. "At least your observant enough to realize it was a who and not a mountain lion. That is the line everyone is feeding you, correct?" Hale's tone is too smug. John itches with the desire to punch him or drag him in for questioning, but he's had close to fifty years to hone his patience.

Thankfully Stiles, and unfortunately for John, Stiles inherited his mother's cold anger. The two snarled and wielded sarcasm like a sword, but when the two got real angry, they went cold.  John can count how many times the two froze him out in a temper on one hand. An experience he did not ever want to re-experience. John, on the other hand, has a hot temper.

"Hale," John warns.

"Tell me, Sheriff Stilinski, what do you know about werewolves?" Peter Hale asks, definitely smug, nearly criminally so.

"What." John says flatly.

John would have pushed from the counter, dropping curses if Hale didn't grab his wrist in a supernaturally strong grip and hold his gaze with too bright blue eyes. A demon’s gaze.

"I asked what do you know about werewolves, sheriff." Peter repeats, grinning. "What you should be asking is, how is my son involved?"

John melts back into his seat. Feeling numb. Werewolves. The numbness -- shock, he thinks clinically -- lasts the four hours it takes Peter Hale to explain the supernatural shitstorm his son has gotten involved in. The Hales. Derek's pack. The Alpha Pack. Kanima. Argents. Melissa. All of the names his son rambles about during his day suddenly gain double meaning. The sun is coming up by the time Peter finishes.

"My son survived all that--" _Hid all that from me_. "And it's one lone werewolf, an omega, that nearly kills him?"

"Trust me, the omega is regretting it." Peter smiles candidly. John gets the impression he enjoys being the bearer of bad news. "She did attack our 'esteemed,'" Peter sneers slightly. "Alpha's-- what would make you feel better? Companion? Mate? Boyfriend? Soulmate?"

"What?" John asks, feeling like another push will be too much.

Peter gives him a side glance, curious and amused. "Your son is my nephew's soulmate. At least, I assume so. Unless your son thinks it's okay to give his dower away to strangers? I never know what parents teach their kids nowadays."

John remembers the new quilt spread on Stiles' bed. The fox staring at a full moon -- his son -- the Hales--

"Talia was gifted." Peter says. "I think your son's social security number is in the white line of the fox's tail. XXX-XX-XXXX, right?"

"Why didn't he tell me?" He asks, helpless and forgetting the man sitting next to him can hear something as soft as his heartbeat, never mind a whisper to himself.

Peter leaves John to his thoughts, coffee always hot under the waitress' watchful attention.

His emotions are tangled together and it's difficult to separate them in order to think clearly. He finally settles on disquiet. Werewolves exist. His son -- the baby he held minutes after he was born -- not only knew about said existence of werewolves but actively tried to hide any mention from John. He really had to talk to his kid about how John was a parent and Stiles a kid. Parents did the protecting, not the other way around.  'Could be worse,' his inner Claudia says. 'He could have been operating a meth lab.' He cracks a smile slightly at that thought. Nothing would make Stiles getting hurt okay or trivial but Stiles is Claudia's son too. She would have been smug in the existence of supernatural creatures --"I don't get it." She complained. "We are fucking psychic. We can foretell who are children's soulmates are and the government wants me to believe werewolves and vampires and witches don't exist?" -- and fucking proud of Stiles.

He's pushing from the counter when, he's son's soulmate is Derek Hale. John's son in law was a werewolf. He nearly thumps back on to his stool but before he can worry about having a heart attack, or worse, fainting he begins chuckling in little spurts, going into full blown hysterical laughter. 'Hale men are so beautiful.' His inner Claudia says smugly. 'Our son rocks.'

Before going back to the hospital, John goes home.

He showers. He shaves. He eats.

He leaves the house to sit in the car for five minutes before running upstairs to grab the dower on Stiles' bed.

He hurries back to his son's bedside before he can change his mind.

Stiles looks miserable and tired. John hates the thought, but he looks so much like Claudia, coddled in a hospital bed with a stubborn set to his mouth. He glares at the pale blue hospital spread and gruffly tucks his kid in with the fox dower. With the dower Derek's parents made specifically for Stiles.

Stiles jerks to alertness, leaving his sullen apathy behind to stare wide at John.

"You are grounded. For the rest of your life." John says firmly. "How do I get Hale-" John remembers Peter with a grimace. "Derek, here?"

The utter gratitude in Stiles eyes makes him as uncomfortable as it puts him at ease.

He's still grounded. 


	8. Upper-cases and lower-cases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny look into a D/s world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are fun. Relationships as complex as D/s are even more fun. There's a whole subculture that's so interesting.

 

*

_Today’s the day_ , he thinks, _Registration Day_.

There’s a fine tremor making its way through his body, starting in his chest and outlying to his hands, breath and legs. This tremor of his is making it difficult to get ready. His hands can’t grasp the shirt long enough to pull it over, and he finally sits on the bed with a self deprecating laugh.

“Here,” Rougher hands used to surviving and punishing tugs the shirt from his grasp and the sub lets the shirt go. “Arms up.” The command is soft and instantly obeyed. The shirt is pushed down his head and tugged down the sub’s torso.

In his Dom’s muted bedroom, it is easy to let his Dom dress him like a doll. he doesn’t feel the need to struggle or the heat of embarrassment. he moves his limbs as his Dom directs him and loves the peace it brings him, how it settles him until the tremor is fine and hardly noticeable.

his Dom continues to dress him. Putting his jeans on him, stroking the tender skin of his ass, his socks, placing soft kisses against his ankles and his shoes, tying the laces with such concentration the sub can see the top of his Dom’s head. The Dom pulls on one belt loop and the sub instantly stands, his hands at his sides, fingers loose and curled.

The Dom goes to the closet, not that the sub watches Him. The sub’s eyes remain downwards, seeing the tops of his shoes and the carpet hours before his cheek had rest against as his Dom let him catch his breath. he can hear the sound of cloth coming off a hangar and the Dom comes back with a hoodie. The hoodie is placed over the sub’s head and all he can smell is his Dom for one brief, glorious second. When his head pops out the hole, he takes a breath of fresh air with regret.

“Eyes.” The Dom commands.

The sub’s eyes instantly fly to the Dom’s face. With no small amount of pride and happiness, the sub smiles. his Dom’s green eyes are soft and His mouth is pleased. And the sub feels so good he did that. That he pleased his Dom enough to be rewarded with the man’s hoodie.

“You will go to school today and register along with the rest of your classmates. You are not to speak to anyone not pack. You will come back here after practice and wait for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The sub says.

“Good boy,” The Dom says.

The Dom leads the sub to the exit, kisses him on the forehead and watches the sub leave in his jeep before preparing for his own day.

 *

Today, during homeroom, DMs visit the junior class to examine them and register which aspect they identify with primarily.

It’s always a big day and everyone always shows up to school.

stiles has known what his aspect was since he was eleven years old. Dungeon Mistress Preston  only confirms his aspect and gives him a small smile when he can’t stop beaming after he signs the paperwork, legally declaring him a submissive and available for collaring. he’s been waiting for this day for months and he can’t stop his torrent of joy.

“Have your heart on a Dominant already?” DM Preston asks, Her voice smoky.

“Sort of.” stiles says. If he was a kid messing around with another kid his age to figure out what their aspects were, it’d be different but Derek is a Dom six years his senior. The argument could be made Derek’s taken advantage of some confused kid and tricked stiles into thinking he’s a sub or something completely creepy. “He’s talking to my dad today.”

“Congratulations then.” She nods. “Please send in Miss Sanders next.”

 *

 John lost His sub after seventeen years together.

He loves her still. He had collared her, promising her forever and He meant it. There would never be room in His heart for anyone but her. There was no point in even trying to replace her. No one would ever be able to.

He thinks about his devotion to her while Derek Hale sits across from Him at his kitchen table waiting for John’s answer whether or not he can collar stiles before stiles is even registered for twenty-four hours.

A part of Him wants to say no. Stiles is _sixteen_. His sub status isn’t even legally filed yet. he’s too young for a collar.

The bigger part of John, the part that can still smell His sub’s skin and hear her soft “Yes, sir,” when He would give her a command, was going to say yes.

Men like Derek don’t promise forever and don’t mean it.

Men like Derek and John know exactly when they meet someone better than them, someone capable of putting up with their twisted insides and they never let go. They knew when they had something worth protecting and caring for.

“You have my permission.” John says gruffly. “Should I even bother getting him a registration ribbon?”

Derek doesn’t smile, but His eyes crinkle slightly. He pulls a brown bag from the inside of jacket and John feels a little thrill at seeing his son’s collar.

The collar a Dom chooses is always personal and John won’t lie. He’s curious.

John had given His sub a lace collar with diamonds. The same lace from her dress from their first scene together. He can remember vividly running His fingers across the fabric and telling her He replaced the collar every time it was too frayed, so she’d always have proof of His constant care and devotion. That was the type of people they’d been.

Derek pulls out a simple black collar and gives it to John for inspection.

John immediately inspects the collar.

The collar is rigid black leather on the outside, but the inside is softer, made for daily comfort. On the hard, dull outside of the collar, there’s a Celtic symbol for the buckle John isn’t familiar with and D. Hale printed on the side. There is no D-ring, no spikes, no studs, no flashiness, nothing to make the collar stand out.

Except.

Except John knows, knows the only way a father and another Dom could, Derek made this collar himself.

“Appropriate.”

 *

stiles lets himself into Derek’s apartment and toes off his shoes and sets his bag next to them on the floor. The apartment is empty as far as he can tell, but that isn’t unusual. he heads immediately towards the bathroom and begins disrobing. he pets the black hoodie for a moment, a smile on his face before starting the shower.

The water is as hot as his skin can handle and he does nothing but wait for three minutes, letting the water scorch off the various scents his day at school got on him. Derek doesn’t like when stiles smells of other people. he begins washing himself, letting himself slip into a different mindset as he does so.

When he leaves the shower, he dries off and gathers his neatly folded clothes to put on Derek’s dresser.

he hesitates for a moment, touching the hoodie before pulling it on. The hoodie reaches his mid thighs and is rough across his bare skin. he hurries to his spot in front of the couch and kneels, waiting for his Dom to come home.

he begins thinking of scenes, toys, workshops, dungeons, the collar his Dom promised him, the feel of his Dom’s hand on his neck, of the cold edge of a knife. All these thoughts warm him, make him feel loved and wanted. he doesn’t know how long he kneels by the couch, lost in the sensations of the past and hopes for the future.

The door does eventually open and the sub can hear his Dom moving around the apartment: removing his shoes, going to the kitchen for something to drink, silence, movement towards His bedroom, the sub can hear his Dom on the phone, speaking to someone, maybe someone from the pack but the sub can’t tell without seeing his Dom.

This is how their evenings together begin.

The sub will patiently wait as long as his Dom requires.

The Dom finally enters the room, sitting on the couch with a sigh and the sub lets his eyes drink in his Dom. Slouched against the cushions, legs splayed open, mouth relaxed, head tilted slightly and His hands on His knees. Relaxed and content. The sub hums, pleased to see his Dom so. He must have good news and the sub will admit to worrying his dad would deny his permission. he feels himself relax completely.

his Dom blinks slowly, green eyes focused completely on the sub’s brown ones. The sub immediately places his head on his Dom’s knee and is rewarded by his Dom petting him. His fingers start at his nape and work themselves to his forehead, sometimes detouring around his ears. The sub nuzzles his Dom’s knee and hums again.

“I have a present for you.” his Dom says.

The sub doesn’t open his eyes. Keeps his head pressed against his Dom’s knee. his Dom strokes his face with warm leather, and the sub imagines his Dom holding it against his skin for hours, keeping it warm and close.

Contentment makes him malleable in his Dom’s capable hands, collar buckling around his throat.

 


	9. Adventures in Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is so rough. It's in infancy, and I loved it so much when I first started it. But I forgot about it over the past year and a half, and I won't ever finish it. So there's this little piece of insanity. It was also my first stab at actual porn and just, eugh. 
> 
> Plot? Teen Wolf meets Alice in Wonderland.

Prologue: Welcome to the Mystery

Derek and Laura have faced hunters before.

It’s how their parents died.

A hunter with more zeal than common sense murdered them in broad daylight. Two wolfsbane bullets too close to their heart killing them near instantly. Witnesses tackled the hunter down and the news carried the story because of the man's raving about werewolves. The corner would be the one to tell Laura, not knowing Derek could hear from across the room, if their parents hadn't been allergic to the aconite oil, their parents would have lived.

These particular hunters were crazier than most.

One, they were led by Chris Argent. Everyone knew the man had been hanging on to his sanity by a string, but he'd really lost it when his daughter went missing six months ago. Argent was the type of man to give werewolves nightmares. He killed brothers and fathers; mothers and sisters were never found.

Two, they pinned playing cards on their chests and called each other by numbers. Derek understood obscurity. He was a werewolf in a two person pack. Drawing attention to himself was asking for the biggest, meanest thing to kill him. Screaming, "Seven!" and having four heads turn and ask,"Which suit?" Was a little extreme.

Three, they were relentless.

"Run faster!" Laura snarls from behind him.

Three seconds behind him, a bullet enters a tree. The wood shatters. Breathing heavily, thankful for every mile he's ran since his parents died, Derek pushed himself harder. These crazy assholes, The Suiters they've been nicknamed by fearful packs, had been chasing them for days. Ever since they caught Laura beheading a swamp witch.

Another shot rings out.

"Laura!

"Go! I'm fine!" Laura calls out breathlessly. "Thank God, they're fucking miserable shots."

She catches up to him. Bullets still being fired behind them. They share a glance and Laura smiles, scared. "Split up. Meet you at the car."

Despite her bravo, they both knew the hunters are only missing because it was dark and they were fast. If one of The Suiters caught them, Derek was dead and Laura placed at their mercy. Derek has seen the Nine of Hearts handiwork in Maryland. An omega split in two, down from the crown of the head to the crotch.

He takes a hard left, only supernatural grace keeping him on his feet. Laura foot steps sounding behind him to the right.

"Hearts, follow the bitch!" Chris Argent orders behind him. "Clubs, after the mongrel!"

Derek pushes his thoughts away from his sister being chased by the insane Nine of Hearts. Laura was the alpha. She could take care of herself. He just needed to get to car at the edge of the preserve. It was stupid to abandon it to begin with, but they'd been trapped in the metal box for the past two days. They'd thought they were safe enough to stretch their legs in the national park. Animal hunting was not allowed. The Suiters must not have read the signs.

The one bad thing being the sole focus of the Clubs, they were the best shots. Derek pushed himself harder. Each breath like fire in his lungs. He would heal if they dug the bullet out, but The Suiters were aiming to cripple him to finish the job with the blades they wore at their sides and under jackets.

He grunts and nearly trips when a bullet hits him in the shoulder blade. The bullet shatters the bone and Derek can't breathe. He's stumbling and falling. Dizzy because no matter how hard he tries, he can't breathe. There was something wrong with the bullet, he thinks dazed. Something different about it.

Laying in the dirt and leaves, he hears a roar of fury and shouts of excitement and nothing.

Chapter One:

Surprisingly, Derek wakes up.

He opens his eyes and squeezes them shut.

It was fucking bright. The sun was strong and warm like summer, not the winter sun The Suiters had been hunting him under. Had he been in a coma? His shoulder didn't hurt and he wasn't sore. He certainly didn't feel like he'd been sprinting for his life and being shot at.

More careful, Derek opens his eyes.

And instantly knows Laura is to be blamed. Somehow, this is all Laura's fault.

Slackjawed, not that he'd ever admit it, Derek takes in the landscape of the very strange place he'd woken up. The sky was violently blue, dotted by evenly spaced and perfectly formed clouds. There was giant purple mushrooms towering like trees and trees tiny like mushrooms. Flowers in pastels and colors he's never even seen before growing more abundant than grass. The patches of grass he could see was Easter green. There was a red and white checkered path leading to God knew.

Derek doesn't immediately register the fact he's wearing nothing but a royal blue vest (nothing underneath it) and matching petticoat with white thigh highs. There's a fucking blue snail the size of an elephant fifteen feet away, white rabbits playing ring around the roses and the flowers are talking to each other. He hears a neigh and refuses to turn around because he's scared it'll be a god damn unicorn.

Werewolves were allowed to exist. He refused the existence of unicorns.

He notices his outfit when he feels a breeze on the back of his thighs. He also notices the black tail swishing the skirt. Sick, Derek has to know and touches two furry triangles atop his head. "I'm high." He concludes. "Or in hell."

The only thing Derek has to be grateful about right now is his well worn and beloved boots.

"Aren't you a pretty one?" A petunia calls at him.

The other flowers swivel to look at him. At least he thinks. They had no faces. He's still trying to figure out how the flower had a voice. The other flowers hoot and whistle, making his cheeks burn in murderous rage or embarrassment was anyone's bet. His ears had never failed him, even if they now twitch and swivel, and assure him. The flowers are talking.

"Ooo!" The rabbits scamper near, breaking their game. "Another Alice! And how pretty she is!"

One of the bolder rabbits touches the hem of his skirt and Derek--

Derek is going to make rabbit pants is what he's going to do.

"Run away!" The rabbits shriek as they run from his lengthening fangs and grabbing claws. "They found another mean one!" They wail.

The flowers follow the rabbits' shouts and Derek has the pleasure of watching them unroot and run away. The snail continues on to pass him, unimpressed.

"Im-press-ive." A voice says.

His ears claim the sound comes from in front of him, but there's nothing. Warily, he darts a glance upwards. A beast, possibly the bastard child between a god and a wolf, swings its tail and climbs down thin air like it would steps. Maybe Derek has a brain tumor?

"Only here for five minutes and already you've caused a ruckus." Or maybe mental illness ran in his family? It was a possibility he was clinging to. Something had to explain this insane place. The wolf monster sits down in front of Derek and eyes him with ruby eyes, like an alpha werewolf's. "Silly rabbits. Then again, they are used to only female Alices. One supposes they can't be fully to blamed. Much."

The wolf monster yawns. "Try not to hold it against them. They aren't the brightest. Too smart for their own heads."

"What." Derek has learnt something new about himself. He is not cut out for talking animals.

"Too much brains doesn't leave any room for thinking." The wolf monster explains absently. "'Though, they are right. You are as pretty as any female Alice."

"My name isn't Alice." Derek says because it was bad enough he was in a frilly and somewhat itchy skirt. He was not a woman.

"Obviously not. Alice is a woman's name." The wolf monster says scornfully. "But you are a Alice."

"And what is an Alice if not a woman?" Derek says, a headache forming behind his eyelids. Derek didn't even know he could get headaches. It was an experience he didn't want to repeat. Ever. But ruby eyes told him not to hope.

"Good question." The wolf monster grins. "The Red Huntress has an answer."

"Forget it." Derek says. "Why me? If I'm not female."

"You'd have to ask The Suiters. They're in charge of bringing female Alices here. They've never brought a male one." The wolf monster cocks his head and eyes Derek up and down."Explains your petticoat though, doesn't it?" The wolf monster muses with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Usually The Suiters find busty girls to dress scantily. Do you by any chance have an attractive sister? That was close by?"

Laura. Did the hunters have her? Fear for his sister consumed him. She wasn't immortal. She was an alpha. She could die as easily as their parents.

"Which way is out?" He asks, wrestling the panic from his voice.

"Out?" The wolf monster muses. "One would assume the ends of the road would be out."

"If I go down the path, I'll get out of here?" Derek clarifies.

The checkered path extended as far as he could see on both sides. Each end leading into eventual dark under brush.

"Hmmm. Yes. The end of the road is a way out." The wolf monster agrees. The wolf begins walking ahead of Derek on the path. "Why would you want out when out is so painful," Derek watches the wolf monster shrug and his shoulders disappear. "Is confusing. Such an odd Alice." Derek watches the wolf monster continue down the path and disappear body part by part until only his feet remain.

Derek watches large paws, criss cross into the dark woods. He has to think of Laura. If he wasn't there to watch her back, what would happen to her? Determined, he follows the dancing paws into shadows.

Chapter Two :

Derek walks down the path for what feels like a very long time.

The trees around him are like a fence. Keeping him firmly on the path. He couldn't stray if he wanted to. He'd grown bored of the jewel birds -- Derek literally saw a diamond finch gleam in the tree branches -- that hopped from branch to branch following him.

The first flock of birds he'd been awed by were sapphire blue jays. They'd gossiped in little whispers he's triangle ears caught about his scandalous clothing. Derek didn't have a choice in clothing, unless they were offering. But no. They whispered about how The Suiters brought another promiscuous Alice to make the land wicked. He'd made it quite a distance listening to their gossip, but a man has limits.

He roared.

The trees had shook, the shouts of animals and startled flights drowning out the damn birds. The saphhire blue jays left him.

Only to land again to hurl nastier insults.

It was the third time he'd roared their wings into flight he realized they were baiting him. They wanted their tiny hearts to burst with fear, like children afraid of heights riding a rollercoaster. Now, flocks of birds followed him. Some yelling insults, others screeching, "Again!" and more still pleading, "Please! Oh please!"

Derek was scary, damn it.

Hunters have looked into his eyes and dropped their guns to run the opposite way. He was not indulging balls of feathers. Especially if they thought he was fun.

By the time he reaches the cottage on the side of the checkered path, he's grumpy and thirsty. A break from the woods and hopefully something to drink would make his desire to set the woods on fire abate.

The cottage is a simple thing covered in ivy. It could have come off a Better Homes & Gardens magazine. There was the white fence, cobblestone path and fragrant flowers that did not speak. From the checkered path, he could see white lace curtains in the windows. It was inviting and harmless looking.

Derek was immediately on guard but remained optimistic.

As optimistic as an orphaned werewolf hunted by serial killers could be, at least.

The door knocker was of a serpent and Derek had third thoughts about the cottage. Maybe he'd find water further down? He couldn't hear any traces of running water, but he was sure a scum pond wouldn't kill him. Pretty sure.

The door abruptly opens and Derek is forced to look down to see the cottage's owner.

The owner was a woman with strawberry blonde ("Specifics saves lives." Laura whispered once. "Trust me, you want to know the difference between strawberry blonde, ginger and red hair.") curls held in order by a light blue headband and innocent pink lips. Her narrowing eyes and matching blue maid dress with white apron informed him the woman's innocence ended at the color of her lips.

"Let me, guess," Derek says, seeing the similarities. "Your name is Alice."

The woman smirks. "Not quite. I'm a Alice, however. My name is Lydia." She held out a dainty hand with no callouses.

"Derek." He trades her.

"Do come in." Lydia says, eyeing him up and down slowly. "The pleasure will be utterly mine."

Derek has the sudden urge to trip backwards and run. There was something in Lydia's voice that didn't whisper 'I'm hungry and you're edible' so much as scream it. He's reminded of the cougar women that called him 'cub' outside of a club an ally frequented back home. It was wicked. Lydia was wicked.

"I have lemonade and sandwiches." She says. "If you've come to this far, you'll want them. I remember what the path is like." She shudders faintly. "Fucking judgemental assholes."

She leaves the door open, expecting him to follow her.

The inside of the cottage was like a terrarium. The ground was dirt, sand or wood chips. Tiny trees, possibly bonsai, were growing out of the walls out of all directions. There was holes in the ceiling to let sunlight. The table was a tree root and the chairs Lydia waved him at were giant sunflowers. Gingerly, he sits on the sunflower, careful of his new tail. The petals tickled his thighs in a not altogether unpleasant way.

"You must be a werewolf." Lydia says conversational from what Derek tentatively places as the kitchen..

"What?" Derek asks, startled and his tail twitches.

Lydia smiles mockingly, holding a silver tray with two tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of what Derek thinks are sandwiches. If bread were rose petals and meat was berries.

"Only werewolves have wolf ears and tails." She sets the tray down. "I'm sorry about the lack of meat, but I only have rats and birds."

"It's fine." Derek says dubiously.

Lydia sighs knowingly. "Trust me. I miss chicken so much. Jackson, he tries to make me happy." She touches the silver tray. "But no pretty bauble can replace a McDonald's chicken nugget.

"Try it." Lydia says. "It's quite filling."

Derek takes a bite of the odd sandwich and flavor explodes in his mouth. The rose petal tasting like sweet bread and the berries popping between his teeth like juice bubbles. Each bite more filling than the last.

"This place really does organic food like no one else." Lydia says. "I'd miss the lemon tree if I left." She smiles over her glass rim. "They self squeeze and sweeten."

"Have you tried to leave?" Derek asks her. Maybe she would have information. Clues or hints. Maybe even a way to shut the jewelled birds up.

"Once." She says wistfully. "I was an officer in the Marine Corps. A combat engineer." Darkness crosses her face. "Until The Suiters fucking kidnapped me." Her face smooths out, her fury locked behind tight lips. "I tried my hardest to get out of here. And I would have died if Jackson hadn't recognized me as his true love." She smiles the mocking smile again. Like she knows how foolish she sounds. "He was doing to eat me. But soulmates always recognize each other. Remember that."

"So you stopped trying." Derek says.

"I fell in love." She shrugs, somewhat bitterly. "True love... I'm not heartless. Even I know not to throw that away."

"I never got further than this house." She looks at the rafters. "It's not a bad life. I'm mostly happy. At least I have my Jackson."

"Why did The Suiters take you?" Derek persists. There's something about Lydia's tale he's not paying attention to but is clamoring for his attention. His head feels like it's straining to trying to remember a song using only muffled lyrics. "You're human."

"I don't know." Lydia says. "I have my theories but a theory is laziness and stupidity at it's finest."

"Lydia." A voice hisses from behind Derek.

That's what it was. Humans didn't try to eat each other. Ignoring Lydia's happy murmur of, "Jackson," Derek turns around to face a scaled monster. He was green and yellow with a long tail for balance. He was crouched and he tasted the air twice in three of Derek's heartbeats. Jackson's eyes were yellow and slitted. He unnerved Derek more than the wolf monster possible could. Maybe Derek did have a little kinship with wolves. He'd have to ask Laura about visiting Yellowstone to see.

"You're home early."

"Who is he?" Jackson says, his forked tongue accenting his words oddly.

"Another Alice." Lydia smiles coyly from under pale eyelashes and Derek tenses, ready to flee. "Isn't he the prettiest?"

Jackson roars and attacks Derek.

Derek manages to kick the reptile creature off with minimal damage to his person, never mind his dignity. Skirts, petticoats, what the fuck ever were not meant to preserve mysteries about the male form. Derek hears Lydia laughing, wild and unhinged over Jackson's sylbibant ranting.

"Bad Alice! Alices' naughty! Red Huntress says it is so! Must bring Alice to Red Huntress for punishment!"

Derek learns another new thing. The venom coating Jackson's claws caused paralysis. Derek fell to the floor, feeling his body contract around the entry point across his thigh. Unable to move much less fight, Derek does the one thing he knows he's terrible at. He talks.

"Then how are you able to keep her alive?" Derek barks, eyes drilled on Lydia. "She's an Alice! Why hasn't your Red Huntress punished her?"

Jackson hesitates and stops in his tracks to stare at Lydia. The strawberry blonde stares at Derek with an impressed smile. "Red Huntress says to bring her Alices to punish." Jackson says. "Lydia is a Lydia." He sounds uncertain.

"That's right, baby." Lydia says to Jackson. "I'm a Lydia. Your Lydia. But not everyone sees that. They only believe it because the Red Huntress and everyone trusts you when you say their eyes lie."

"My name is Derek!" Derek shouts, seeing his chance. "Not Alice. Does the Red Huntress really want to be bothered for a Derek?"

The snake creature considers his words and shakes his head. "No. Derek is Derek. Lydia is Lydia. There's no Alices for Red Huntress to punish." Balefully, Jackson kneels and picks up Derek's slack body. "But Dereks should not be here. Only Lydias and Jacksons." He swings Derek over a scaly shoulder and Derek growls at Lydia's appreciative smirk.

"Why didn't you warn me about him?" Derek manages before Jackson carries him out of Lydia's earshot.

"Where would the fun in that be? Come again for supper!" She calls out cheerfully, waving goodbye.

Chapter Three :

Jackson deposits him far down the red and white checkered road, until Lydia and the cottage were a distant memory and he could wiggle his fingers and flop his neck.

Huffing, Jackson drops him and kicks him in the ribs. "Lydia s mine. Not yours, dirty wolf."

By the time Jackson has left his hearing and sense of smell, Derek can climb to his feet. Knees shaking slightly.

"Fucking psychos." Derek mutters.

The skirt and vest were scratched from the fight and dotted with blood from injuries already healed. The white thigh highs had multiply lines and punctures left by claws. Not that Derek was attached to the outfit, but some covering was better than no clothes.

"Kanimas are widely known to be possessive of their lovers." The wolf monster says appearing quite suddenly. "And Lydia is well known for stirring his passions." The wolf monster's tone becomes wistful. "Now, there's an Alice committed to chaos and disorder. Why, just the other day she convinced The Twins to pork The Duchess."

"Why." Derek asks.

"Because it was funny." The wolf creatures huffs a laugh. "The Duchess double stuffed by pigs."

"I don't want to know." Derek says flatly.

"But how can you know that you don't want to know if you don't know it?" The wolf monster asks.

Maybe the wolf monster's sense of humor was just sick. Derek didn't know. He did know, however, he didn't want the wolf monster to explain.

"Instinct." Derek says.

"Follow your instincts frequently, do you?" The wolf monster asks thoughtfully. "Then perhaps I will not warn you about what's ahead. Let you rely on your instincts."

"Warn? Warn me about what?" Derek asks, but the wolf monster disappeared as suddenly as he appeared.

"Shit." Derek says, completely heartfelt.

The woods thin out as Derek walks. More mushrooms and flowers appearing in their places. Everything looks soft and sweet. Everything pastel and come hither. His limbs are getting heavier and the light from above darker. Like the blue eyeshadow Derek teased Laura for wearing to her junior prom.

Ducking under a purple mushroom cap with pink underneath, Derek falls asleep. He'd been dumped in bizzaro land, dressed in drag (possibly by The Suiters) and attacked by a snake-man. Hopefully, when he opened his eyes he'd be staring up at hunters and a shattered shoulder bone.

He wakes up to the vibrations of the mushroom as someone climbs it. Derek sees blue stilettos and white clad legs before they're pulled up. Shaking dreams of home from his head, Derek acknowledges the need to move from the mushroom and investigate the owner of the dark blue shoes.

Derek makes as much noise to be polite and when he straightens, he wishes he stayed unmoving under the mushroom.

The woman on the mushroom is dressed (and Derek used the word dressed loosely) in the blue heels, white stockings, ruffled panties and dark blue corset. The woman is blonde with thick curls, dark eyes and vibrant red mouth. She smirks at him.

Derek has never met a maneater before. His parents dying when he was sixteen dampened any sexual desires he once had. He avoided women unless they fulfilled two perquisites. One, her name was Laura. Two, she was his sister. Not that the waitresses, hotel clerks, random strangers on the street from their life of being chased took the hint. But this woman, was definitely a maneater.

Laura did always say he'd recognize her on sight.

Busy blinking and trying to find a safe place to look, Derek notices her stunning human face... That doesn't stay human. When he tilts his head, her face twists to look like a werewolf with brown triangle ears and tail. Tilting his head the opposite way, green feelers pop from her head to compliment the yellow and green wings sprouting from her back.

Derek is now so distracted by her three faces, he barely notices how tight her blue corset is.

"What are you?" He asks her stunned.

"I'm an Alice. Like you." She says, sounding hurt.

"No, your face." Derek says helplessly.

"Oh." She says understanding dawning. "I've been here awhile." She touches what must be her wing and when Derek tilts his head again he can see her as a butterfly. "I used to be mostly a werewolf, but The Duchess cursed me." Erica leans forward on her elbows. "She got jealous that Boyd didn't want to play puppy and mistress with her anymore." Her wings flutter and a breeze hits his face. "So she made it so Boyd can't find me. Only Alices can see me as I should be."

"Alices-- do you know why there's Alices? How we can get home?"

"No one knows." The blonde shrugs.

Her fingers run up and down her thighs.

"Alices... Alices are beheaded by the Red Huntress or sent on a quest to never be heard from again or hide." She shrugs.

The blonde Alice continues speaking of Alices. Her fingers sliding across her skin, her eyes falling half closed. Derek snorts as her arousal hits him in the face. She tells him about the dark haired Alice rumored to start it all as she pets herself over her underwear. How that Alice made it to the Red Castle and escaped. Stopped being an Alice.

Like a train wreck, Derek watches her slip her fingers inside. One hand kneading her breast. Her breathy moans explaining another Alice recently followed the same path to the Red Castle to stop being an Alice.

"But it's all rumor." The blonde says thickly. "Fuck."

She opens her eyes. They glitter amber and Derek backs away. She-wolves were dangerous. Especially if she already had a lover. Derek would be torn apart by her. He'd enjoyed her body, even as she tore him apart but Derek was still sane enough to back away even if he kept both eyes glued to her.

"Fuck me," she tempts. "And I'll tell you everything anyone has ever screamed."

Derek runs.

Distantly, he can hear her scream, "Boyd. Come back!"

Chapter Five:

The checkered path takes him past a house.

A house guarded by giant puppies on their hind legs. Watching the house, he can hear explosions and a woman's shrill laughter and moans.

Determined, he begins walking pass the house.

"Are you sure?" The wolf monster asks slyly. "Miss Erica's Boyd resides here." Derek's eyes go wide in horror. "'Though The Duchess does have a policy for all her soldiers, her cunt or no one's." Peter hums and keeps pace with Derek as he trots by. "Poor Erica. Knowing her lover is driven by animal instincts like any beast."

"What type of monster is he?" Derek asks.

"He's a man." Peter says simply, like that's the worst there was.

Derek continues walking.

Chapter Six:

The forest abandons the checkered path and gives way to potted Monet paintings like Water-Lily Pond and Water-Lilies and topiary art. The boxwood shrubs are trimmed into twisting trees, the grass replaced by spirals and spheres. Dotted by giant animal sculptures like a panda bear, spider, butterfly, caterpillar, wolves and dogs.

The lack of towering mushrooms allows Derek to see the tea party directly on the red-white chessboard.

The table is high and surrounded by chairs with high backs and colorful cushions. The china on the table looked expensive to Derek's untrained eye and very mismatched. Some had painted flower designs, others blue text, stripes and pictures of watch faces. The china was mixed with crystal and silver. The crystal sparkling like diamonds, maybe the glasses were diamond. Derek wouldn't know. The silver gleamed on some sides and on others, tarnished.

Desserts piled high.

There were two men at the table.

One seated with blonde curls. Buried in the curls were floppy puppy ears.He was dressed in soft, shimmery silver suit. A matching top hat primly on his head. A fancy eye piece decorating his face. He was drinking tea from a tiny cup the size of a thimble and watching the man on the table.

The man the table was dressed in a pink suit patterned by ticking gold clocks. His black hair wild and shaped into a perfect top hat, besides the floppy puppy ears. When he violently turned in his pacing, Derek could see a black tail. The man carries an antique teapot in one hand and the other a cream pitcher. In disbelief, Derek shook his head and resolutely decides to go around without the two dog-men wiser.

Creeping between shrubs and behind planted paintings, Derek still over hears the pink suit shout.

"How could she say it wasn't enough! All my watches! My love she said wasn't strong enough! My love for her has grown by seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months! All on my clocks! Yet she says! It isn't enough! Tick! How dare she measure something she can't read? What? Because she only has the hours in a day she thinks I'm not good enough?"

"Time is measured in months! Look at my watch! See the hands? It clearly moves, April to May to June! I've loved her for centuries! But she says no, says it's only been days and breaks my heart."

"Then I don't need her! Let her slay me! I will gladly die to prove her wrong! Tock. I've loved her another year, she still loves me less! Where did I go wrong?"

"It makes no sense to measure things that cannot be measured by a thing too numerous to measure!"

Derek's ears perk. Eyes wide, he hurries across towards the sound of rushing water, thinking he'd find something to drink.

Chapter Seven:

The waterfall he finds is hidden between cotton candy trees, sweet smelling, and animal cakes that towered over him. It's the overwhelming frosting and sugar that allows Derek to stumble over the man in the purple shirt and green boxer briefs.

The man is young and on his back. A purple jacket folded neatly out of the way and a his purple pants under his head. There's a green tie, loose around his throat and a purple top hat with a green band across it on his knee. Derek watches the hat tremble on the man's knee for a long time, listening to the sound of slick flesh, gasps and a litany of "oh fuck" like a prayer and water crash.

He's--

Derek inhales sharply, but it's all sweet. Derek is a werewolf. He uses smell as much as he used his eyes. It unnerves him that he can't breathe the man in and savor--

Not--

Derek is unnerved. He's eager in watching this man. Up and down, chest heavy beneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt and tie and Derek can see the sweat. Making his skin shine and Derek wants to bury his nose there. In the dip of throat to catch the sweat to scent, lick, rub his face there.

The man grips himself tightly at the base, suddenly freezing. Derek freezes as well and strains his ears for what made the man stop. All he can hear is the water and faint echoes of the man in pink. The man sighs and spreads his legs wider.

The blonde didn't do this to Derek. She had watched as she dipped her fingers inside, moaning and keeping him pinned in place with sometimes amber eyes that felt like a taunt. Come get me. Mouth twisted a little jaded and sad. Like because he was there he'd do.

Purple Suit is sucking on his fingers. Derek watches transfixed. He knows what's going to happen next. Where those fingers will go. Derek's fingers tingle. A whine fighting it's way out because Jesus. The guy needs to stop -- Derek should say something. Should just stand here and watch or he needs to let Derek touch him.

Derek could lose his dick in the ruffled skirt. He can feel how hard he is. It hurts. He desperately wants to touch. But you'd never know because of the damn skirt. His tail wags. Swish swish. It sounds like a budding tornado in his ears. Guilty, he glances at Purple Suit who is arching his back to reach an angle.

He shouldn't. Really.

He touches the bottom of the skirt. The tulle lover's touch soft when he moves it. No one has to know. Do they? If he's fast, Purple Suit won't even know he's there. He'll be far away.

He's had time to touch twice when Purple Suit sighs, wistful and content. He's touching the tip, skirt bunched in his lap when --

"Aren't you going to share?" Purple Suit asks.

Derek stills and looks from his hiding place and into brown eyes that spoke of mischief and trouble.

"Especially after I've done all this hard work?"

Derek freezes.

Shit.

"Well?" Purple Suit asks.

He doesn't sound upset. If anything it's amusement and mischief coloring his voice. Derek inhales sharply through his nose, trying to read his scent but again. Frosting and sticky sweet is all he smells. Purple Suit already knows he's there. How, Derek is unsure. His hiding spot between the shadow of a large peacock cake and a cotton candy tree is well hidden.

Swallowing his nerves, he takes a step forward and abandons the spot.

Purple Suit's eyes go momentarily wide. "It might actually be my birthday."

"What?" Derek asks startled. Of all the things he expected Purple Suit to say, birthdays never crossed his mind.

"Usually it's my Unbirthday." Purple Suit says. "Everyone knows birthdays only happen once a year." He sounds appreciative.

"You're not mad?" Derek asks. He could feel a headache wanting to bloom, but the sight of spread knees and unbuttoned shirt was like aspirin.

"Unless you're going to be rude and uncivilized and not share what's for me under the skirt." Purple Suit says. "Don't be rude and uncivilized. I know you're a werewolf and all but that's no excuse."

"Rude and uncivilized is me not having sex with you?" Derek asks, incredulous.

Here he'd been thinking it was spying.

"Well, yeah." Purple Suit says. "Here I am, aching for your dick and you weren't even going to offer!"

"You didn't offer." Derek points out, exasperated.

If he had, Derek was embarrassed to say they probably wouldn't be having this conversation right now.

"No," Purple Suit agrees. "But I thought I should take care of the hard stuff so you could fuck me?" The man begins to snicker. "Get it? Hard stuff?"

Bewildered, Derek stares helplessly.

He knows what he'd like to do. Especially since Purple Suit wants him to. But it was too weird. People, normal people, did not offer to have sex with the stranger caught watching them masturbate. What if Purple Suit was mentally unhinged or wanted to wreck Derek like the blonde had wanted to? Derek wouldn't know if Purple Suit had a lover hidden nearby waiting to devour his heart for daring to take what was being offered. It was the kind of mind game Lydia and Jackson would play.

"Aw, poor baby." Purple Suit says suddenly. "You're not just new to these parts are you? You're new to here." The man smiles, a little gentle mixed with coy. "Trust me. The rules here are very different from there." Purple Suit moves to his elbows. The tie a strangled snake down his chest and shirt doing nothing to hide his own aroused state. His top hot nearly off his knee. "I won't eat you, pretty Alice. Hmmm. Prettiest Alice. Promise. I remember living there. Here, things are much simpler. I've waited a long time as have you. Trust me. This," he waves a and at himself and Derek. "Is not something you want to be rude and uncivilized about. That makes for poor impressions."

"Derek." Derek says, taking a step forward. Purple Suit beams. "My name is Derek."

"My prettiest Derek, then." Purple Suit murmurs. "My name is...well, everyone calls me Mad here. But you can call me Stiles."

Stiles.

An exchange of names was a step towards not being strangers. Derek could almost convince himself he was at a bar, looking for a one night stand, even if the feeling in the air was heavier. It was like Stiles was asking him to commit him rather than debauch him.

Commit. Was that why they called him Mad? Because he should be?

"Come here." Stiles coaxes.

The top hat is about to fall and Derek takes the steps too quick to catch it and settles it back on Stiles' knee with a blush. This close, he could finally smell him and--

Derek wanted so much he sure he would choke on it.

"There we are." Stiles says. "Let me show you how to be polite to Mad."

Resonating in his ears, when Stiles kisses him, is "Be polite to Madness."

Chapter Seven :

Derek wakes up streaked with frosting, cotton candy sticky in his hair and chocolate cake on tongue. Stiles isn't a limpet at his side anymore, maybe why he woke, and when Derek has the presence of mind to look in the direction his ears claim Stiles is, he finds him at the waterfall edge. Splashing the pool of water with a curious expression, just as dirty as Derek. If not more.

Getting up to follow his wayward...Stiles, Derek leaves the damnable skirt, vest and boots piled next to Stiles' clean purple suit.

"The water is warm." Stiles says. "If you want to clean off."

Derek tests the water and it is warm. This place was going to screw with his head after he leaves.

"I could wash your back, if you want?" Stiles says and he's shy?

After yesterday, this is what made him shy?

"In." Derek says and pushes his Stiles in.

Stiles flails to the top, but his eyes are ruining the effect of his scowl. His brown eyes spoke of easy amusement and affection.

Derek follows.

The water feels wonderful after two days without.

Stiles rubs the icing off Derek's back and neck, chattering. Derek surprises himself by actually paying attention. Stiles speech made sense most of the time. Rarely would he fall into a (il)logical mash of sentences that confused Derek. It was like speaking to someone bilingual who colored their sentences with both languages. Derek had to reminded himself frequently of that when it sounded like Stiles was speaking English when he really wasn't.

Stiles moves his fingers to Derek’s hair and quiets. His fingers tug and pull gently, running his fingers through to remove knots and frosting. Derek’s eyes are partially closed, tilting into it. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone did this for him. It felt…nice.

"You don't know what I'd do to skip tea time. Just once." Stiles says wistfully.

"Why are you here?" Derek asks. "You seem so sane." Compared to the others at least.

"I got lost once." Stiles says sadly. "Very, very lost."

Underneath Derek's hands, Stiles goes limp. "I don't really remember there like the Alices do. I think I had a family. And sometimes I miss them very much."

"I'm sorry." Derek says. He hadn't intended on making the constantly mischievous man upset.

"Why? Did you do it?" Stiles asks suspiciously. "No, of course not." Stiles answers himself. "Alices are kidnapped and brought here."

Off balance but sensing information, Derek quickly asks, "Do you know why Alices are brought here?"

Stiles moves under his hands to face him. Panic and fear lining his face and crouching in his muscles. "You can't! You have to be careful! Promises me you won't do it!"

"Stiles, what are talking about?" Derek asks, trying to soothe. He wasn't very good at it, but Stiles leant closer so he must be doing something right.

"The Red Huntress commands her army to bring her Alices to fight the beast!" Stiles says. "She says an Alice will release us all from this kingdom, but they've all died. No Alice has been the right Alice. They all go to the Red Castle and they all die. You can't die.

"Dying is forever."

Derek hugs Stiles tightly to himself, the man trembling slightly. "I have to go back to my sister. She--we're in danger a lot. I have to watch her back or she'll be alone." Stiles shakes his head. "You understand, right? You have a family waiting for you too."

"But I don't know that I do. Just what I think." Stiles says.

"I'll try not to die." Derek says. "I'll avoid the Red Castle if you think I should. The wolf monster did say if I followed the path, I'd find a way out."

Stiles freezes in his arms. His scent belaying icy fear and budding anger. "What does this wolf monster look like?"

Hesitant of the mercurial change in Stiles, Derek slowly explains the wolf monster that told him following the checkered path would lead him home.

"Peter." Stiles says, furious. "He is worse than the Red Huntress. At least she tells you what you face at the end of the path. Peter was leading you towards the beast. Only the defeat of the beast opens the door home."

"He tried to kill me?" Derek asks.

"Peter doesn't lie. The path you're on will send you home, eventually. After you defeat the evil in this land. Alices usually die that way, which is a type of home I suppose."

"Peter wants to leave Wonderland nearly as much as the Red Huntress does. They are not on the same side. He doesn't play fair." Stiles says. "He comes to tea to tell us how his Alices get closer to slaying the beast than any of the Red Huntress' to taunt us with hope we might be free."

Stiles begins to mutter to himself. Words Derek can't make out with his furry appendages, or maybe words he doesn't understand.

"I'll help you." Stiles says, decisively. "The Red Huntress can be cruel, but also kind. She might help me keep you alive."

Derek wants to ask Stiles why his life mattered. They'd only known each other for a day and a half. Was Stiles one of the good people who cared about innocent strangers or was he working for the Red Huntress like Jackson had been to deliver Alices to the Red Castle? He tries to asses Stiles while they dress, but finds he can't. Not objectively. He wants Stiles to care about Derek's well being, which wasn't fair. Stiles probably just wanted to go home like everyone else.

"I like the petticoat." Stiles says, helping Derek settle it around his tail. "And the tail. Werewolf, right?"

Derek nods and goosebumps break out across his arms when Stiles fluffs the wet fur on his tail so it's dry easier.

"Cool." Stiles grins.

Stiles leads him to a door a red door Derek would have missed. It smelled and looked like a cake. Derek couldn't be blamed for thinking, it's cake. Stiles grabs the black door knob and twists it open.

A room with black stone walls and a red floor is revealed with an assortment of weapons hanging on the wall and two thrones with two women seated on them.

Chapter Eight:

“What is this?” One of the women asks.

“It looks like an Alice. A boy Alice.” The other says in disbelief.

Derek stills at the sight of the two women. He knows them both. Chris Argent only tormented werewolves throughout the country in their names: Kate and Allison Argent. Kate Argent is a blonde leaning towards brunette woman with hazel eyes and a face of strict beauty. Allison Argent was fair skinned and black hair like a princess.  

"You're hunters." He says in disbelief. "Argents."

Kate's eyes gleam and she sits up."You know us. You were born as a beast?"

"The others didn't know. They thought we belonged here. Natives. No one is native here. Perhaps that's why they failed. Because they were turned. Bitten. Maybe the Alice has to be born."

"I don't think that's right, Kate." Allison says. "Or Lydia would have made it past Jackson's house."

"Would she? True love could have made her weak." Kate sneers. "The others? Erica and Scott and Isaac? They couldn't even make it to the Castle."

"Scott did." Allison says quietly.

The two women seem to have forgotten about their audience. Derek watches with no small amount of curiosity. Stiles, he notes, isn't surprised. Again, he wonders how Stiles knew about the door. Why.

"And true love made him weak." Kate says. "Like it made you weak. You shouldn't have brought him here. You should have let him die watching the Grandfather Clock."

Allison smells angry and her jaw is tense.

"Scott's fine. Not always aware of time flowing, but fine." Stiles says. "But that's not why I'm here."

"The Alice." Kate agrees. "He's gorgeous."

“I want to go home.” Derek says.

“We all want to go home.” Allison says, sympathically. “Just because you want, doesn’t mean you get.”

“No.” Stiles says, giving Derek a side long glance. “But it’s a good start. How else do you know to get it if you never wanted it in the first place.”

“Quiet!” Allison tells Stiles sharply. “Before your nonsense infects me.”

“What she means to say—“

“I always say what I mean.” Allison interrupts. “And I say, the reason none of can come go home is because of the beast. The Jabberwocky.”

“The what?” Derek asks.

“The creature that none of us can defeat but need to.” Kate says. “It’s why we bring Alices here. To defeat the creature and let us all go home.”

“Do you still want to go home?” Allison asks.

“If not, I’ll cut off your head.” Kate says.

“Lovely judicial system as always Red Huntress.” Stiles says.

“You swear that if I kill this Jabberwocky, everyone in wonderland will be able to go home?”

“I swear.” The Red Huntresses chorus.

“Then I’ll do it.”

Stiles smirks, the brim of the top hat darkening his face and making Derek believe he unleashed something dark.

Chapter Nine:

“You can’t go alone.”  Stiles says. “Wolves hunt in packs. What you need is a pack.”

“And where do you suggest I find one of those?” Derek scowls.

“I’ll take care of it.” Stiles says quickly. “Meet me outside the Red Castle.”

Confused, Derek watches Stiles run off.

*

The gathering of men and women outside the Red Castle’s doors are familiar.

Strikingly so.

There’s Lydia carrying a battered green knapsack with brass goggles across her forehead. Jackson is standing at her side with his teeth bared in a smile and his claws twitching, the threat obvious. There’s the blonde woman dressed in the dark blue corset and stilettoes with white stockings and ruffled panties. Every form Derek can see her in is menacing and fierce. There’s a dark man standing close to her, seemingly unaware of how close, with brown wolf ears and tail and glowing amber eyes, shirtless and wearing soft gray pants. Pink Suit and Eyepiece Boy stand next to each other.

“Everyone I could gather on short notice.” Stiles says nonchalantly.

Derek is torn between saying, “hell no,” and going down the path by himself and being thankful he’ll have people at his back.

“One more.” A voice sounds behind him. Scott whines. “I’m going too.” Allison says. “I’ve fought the Jabberwocky before. I can help.” She smirks and holds her bow. “And I’m not a bad shot either.”

Chapter Ten:

“The Jabberwocky is at the end of the path.” Allison says.

“It could takes us hours, days, weeks or months to see the end of the path!” Scott says, pulling out a bunch of watches. All representing a different time.

“Then we better get a move on.” Lydia says archly.

*

Surprisingly, they manage to travel down the path for a few hours (Derek thinks at least, time is up for debate in Wonderland and if he has to listen to Allison and Scott argue about it one more god damn time, he was shoving every single one of those watches up their--) without any incidents.

The path leads them down to the ocean’s edge, however, and everyone insisted on a break.

“We have to keep our strength up.” Allison says. “The Jabberwocky won’t just allow us to rest after we’ve found it because we’re tired.”

“Too true.” Lydia sighs.

There’s a gathering of lobsters, racing. There’s a finish line and everything. Derek watches them, bewildered for they continue to race and race again. Scott cleans all of his watches obsessively, and Isaac winds them. Allison has her feet in the water, her face full of pleasure. Jackson trails Lydia as she went looking for seashells. And Stiles—

Stiles plops down next to him.

“Did I ever tell you about the oysters?”

*

When they look back now, they can no longer see the Red Castle. Instead the road has lead them to a strange place with giant chess pieces dotting the landscape like windmills. Massive. There were in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, like multiple pieces from different boards. There was even a shot glass chess piece.

"It only takes three days, you know," Peter says conversationally. "For soul mates to know."

Derek jerks his eyes away from Stiles. "What?"

The wolf monster – Peter – is suddenly at his side. Peter smiles, his teeth gleaming, and he slinks around Derek.

"True love only takes three days to take root." Peter continues. “Wonderland is different. The rules here are different. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the need to be near him. To trust him.”

“I don’t.” Derek is quick to say.

“I said three days.” Peter says, insulted. “It’s only been two. Give it time.”

*

They arrive outside a cave that the shapeshifters of the group can confirm hearing monstrous noise coming from.

“Come out!” Allison roars and Derek panics, wondering why they didn’t discuss strategy. He didn't want to call out the beast and fight it head on. He’d been thinking a surprise ambush to hurt it and then they would all finish it off. Shit. “Gerard! Come out!”

Gerard? Why was that name familiar?

Gerard is a monster with a tail, wings, claws, fangs, scales, yellow eyes, hyena laugh and constant black vomit.

Derek doesn't remember why he's familiar, until Allison spits in the beast's face and denounces him.

*

They kill the beast.

Chapter Eleven:

“You’ve murdered my father.” Kate hisses. “And you will die for your crime. Executioner!”

Derek blinks and mostly feels detached from the world. Of course Kate had cards stuffed up her sleeve to cheat. Nevermind that he’d nearly died killing the beast, so they could all go home. To her, that didn’t matter. Just that he had killed an Argent.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Stiles says. “I nearly died to save his life. His life belongs to me! You can’t just take it.”

“That sounds fair.” Allison rules. “Derek lives to pay reparations to Stiles.”

“Off with his head! Off with everyone’s heads!” Kate roars.

“But first the Red Huntress’! To lead her people!” Peter sings out into the sudden din of soldiers pouring into the room.

“Yes! First mine to lead the people!” Kate agrees. “Now do it! Quickly!”

With a confused shrug at his brother in arms, a man cut’s Kate’s head from shoulders in a deft swing of his sword.

“Enough!” Allison shouts. “As the Red Huntress! I revert the order! Be still! All of you!”

Chapter Twelve:

There’s a purple door in the wall that wasn’t there before.

Epilogue:

Waking up is an experience Derek could have lived without.

His eyes feel heavy, his mouth tastes like he’s slept for too long and his shoulder is on fire. He grunts.

“Derek! Thank god.” He hears Laura and Laura? What was she doing in Wonderland?

He forces his eyes open and he registers the motel room with confusion.

 

* * *

 

NOTES:

[DTL1]Hints of Stiles and Co. in this one in the tea and teapot Lydia uses. The hint of Erica should be the books about reversing curses and transformations.

[DTL2]The hint of Lydia should be a book Erica “borrowed” from a friend. A certain cookbook. And a plate of desserts from the Tea Party.

[DTL3]Butterflies outside the house, spying through the windows. A homemade bomb being delivered in cartoonesque fashion. Dolls similar to Stiles, Scott and Isaac having a tea party.

[DTL4]Isaac commenting they can’t give Lydia and Erica any gift baskets if Scott keeps knocking everything off the table.

[DTL5]The waterfall sings her siren song of drinking water and a bath so beautifully. There’s an overwhelming smell of sugar hanging in the air, sticky and sweet. The giant animal cakes of griffins, dragons, lions, bears and such to blame. Even the grass holds a sweet scent as it crunches under his boots.

The water, when he reaches it, is clear down to the bottom. He can see miniature whales and dolphins swimming about and two koi fish the size of sea otters swimming in circle. Derek doesn’t even look around. He unlaced his boots and kicks them off, working the blue and bloody vest off as he does. The skirt he has to be a little more careful with, because of the tail, but he manages. He leaves his clothing in a heap and immediately lowers himself into the water to avoid disturbing the creatures inside too much.

The water is cool.

Derek watches the dried blood on his skin from his fight with Jackson slip off in tendrils, and the rest he scrubs. He’s been sweaty the past few days and it feels so wonderful to be clean again. He feels human again.

[DTL6]Burns on his hands, presumably from helping Lydia

[DTL7]Stiles off handedly mentioning Erica and how he got new clothes for Derek from the Duchess’ home.

[DTL8]Portraits of everyone on the walls along with many Derek hasn’t seen. All the Alices to have come to Wonderland.

\--> Epilogue would have been Derek and Laura moving to Beacon Hills for the first time to live with their Uncle Peter, and Derek meeting everyone in real life. Lydia and Jackson married with a child. Erica and Boyd on a date at the coffeeshop. Scott and Isaac the baristas. Stiles outside his house helping his dad repair the roof. Allison and Chris Argent reuniting.


	10. Mama Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Claudia Stilinksi lived instead of her bonehead, brave husband who was shot by a suspect.

1.

“Claudia, I think Stiles and Scott are in a gang.” Melissa says over the telephone.

“Melissa, the boys know better than that.” Claudia says.

“No, I don’t think they do! I keep finding blood on Scott’s clothes and the first aid kit is empty and he’s never home and when he is, he doesn’t talk to me and I’m failure as a parent! His asshole chemistry teacher’s right! He needs a male role model and he joined a gang to find one!”

“Melissa!” Claudia says, and Melissa gets the impression the woman had been trying to get her attention for awhile now. “I don’t think there are any gangs in Beacon Hills.”

Melissa lets her heart calm. “So you haven’t noticed Stiles acting strange?”

“Well, Derek Hale keeps sneaking into his room. Is that strange?”

2\. 

“So, son, Melissa is convinced you and Scott are involved in criminal activites like descruction of property, criminal mischief and arson.” Claudia blindesides her son as he’s sneaking back to his bedroom at two in the morning.

“Oh my god! Mom!” She watches her son fall to the floor and give a very diginfied yelp.

“And now you’re going to convince me the only illegal activies you’ve been involved in is underage sex with your older boyfriend, Derek Hale.”

She can literally see her son weigh the pros and cons of using the out she provides him with.

“We’re a love that can’t be stopped?” Dagget says.

“Then you bring your unstoppable love home so I can feel like a good mother.” She pretends to think for a second, tapping her lips thoughtfully. “How about you bring him by for breakfast on Saturday, if you aren’t tired from your late night trysts.”

He makes a strangled sound when she closes the door and she’s pretty sure he says something a lot like, “I’m dead. So dead.”

She smirks to herself. Teaches the sneaky little shit to try and pull one over her. Who did he think inherited it from?

3\. 

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?” Melissa asks her son over the phone.

She can hear his breath stutter and his false starts at speaking. It’s a question she’s never meant to voice, but he’s been dodging her for weeks now. She never sees him anymore.

“Mom,” He sounds a little broken but she has to know. “No. You’re the best.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m living in this house alone?”

“Mom—”

“At first I thought it was Allison. I know you’ve been having a rough time with her, but I don’t think that’s it.”

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“I’ll do better. You’re a great mom. I’ll try being a better son.”

4\. 

“Werewolves.” Melissa says faintly over cheap vodka in a plastic shot glass.

“Werewolves.” Claudia agrees, downing her shot in a hasty gulp and pouring herself another.

“Werewolves.” Stiles nods and winces when his mother swallows that shot too.

“Werewolves?” Scott says hesitant, his face still furry and strange looking.

“Better than any scenerio I could think of.” Claudia follows with another shot.

“Wow mom, maybe you should slow down.” Stiles says.

“Don’t tell me what to do. Only sons who haven’t been lying about the existence of werewolves get to speak right now.” Claudia scowls.

“Werewolves.” Melissa repeats.

“Oh, Melissa. Drink some more. It sounds better after the eighth shot, promise.”

5.

“Is this because I told you you couldn’t be a superhero for Halloween when you were six? Is this your way of getting back at me?” Melissa slurs to her son. 

Claudia had been right. After the eighth shot, it did sound better and she’s sure she understands a little better now. 

“Because I would have let you dress up as Robin if you’d said my bad life choices were going to lead to this.”

“Mom, that’s not why!” Scott says, pained. “It was an accident. I didn’t want this to happen.”

"It's a little cool," Claudia uses her hands to show cool she thinks it is.

"Mom, it's so cool, oh my god, you no idea." Stiles blabs, grinning.


	11. Buddy Cops AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I binge watched Law and Order: DVD. So those same trigger warnings majorly apply. Otherwise, this is the brief glimpses into a buddy cop AU I started way back during season 2.

When Detective Hale first meets junior Detective Stilinski, the younger man is sitting with their young victim in the too small plastic chairs. The little girl has a rabbit clutched in a strangled hold and Stilinski is holding a ratty stuffed wolf. She's smiling, tiny but there, and dialogue was easy between the two.

This is how Derek knows Stilinski isn't a moron, just annoying.

They get a reputation as they solves their cases.

Derek is the scary, temperamental partner the victims like when they need a protector who is stronger than any of their abusers and rapists. Stilinski ("Will it kill you to call me Stiles?") is the kind, empathic partner the victims prefer when a submissive, beta male sort is the balm to wounds. And they work extremely well, even if they annoy the hell out of their squad, captain and everyone else forced into contact with them.

The ME, Dr. Lydia Martin, has sworn to have the two banned from the labs unless they can shut the hell up.  
Their work isn't the problem. It's their annoying banter that accompanies their brilliance that drives people up the wall.

"Have you two ever considered switching?" Isaac asks. At their blank looks, he clarifies. "Switching partners?"

"What? Why would we do that?" Stiles asks, cocking his head in confusion.

"No." Derek says blankly.

"Of course not." Scott groans, throwing his hands up.

They have a 97% closing rate on their cases. Very rarely do they not solve a case. It's decided by the captain despite how insane they drive him, he has no choice but to leave them be.

☆☆☆

"They held a knife to your throat today." Derek says.

Stiles is on his side laying on cot at the station, a bandage taped at his throat. The younger man opens his eyes and nods. "Job hazard." 

He's in an old BHPD shirt that Derek is sure would fit Boyd better and his sweats are tied with a knot that still let's them hang loosely, like since Stiles tied the knot, he lost weight.

Derek approaches his partner and Stiles sighs and rolls on to his back so Derek can prod at the injury to his heart's content. 

"You could have died." Derek continues.

"You made the shot." Stiles answers. "You did good."

Stiles holds Derek's hand to his throat. He can feel the soft material of the gauze, the scratchy edges of the tape, the flutter of a pulse. "Feel it? My ticker is still pumping blood."

They get a little worse after that, a little more furious and afraid than ever before. It makes the captain worry a little and he puts them on light duty with heavy implications to get head checked or else.

Derek sets his appointment right before Stiles because he doesn't think he'll be able to stand going after, not that when Stiles goes would change his feelings or not. He tells the shrink what she wants to hear and she releases him with a soft smile like he's made her proud. He goes to the bar immediately afterwards because whiskey has always been his number one mental healthcare provider. 

Stiles flops down next to him three hours later, looking tired and his age for once instead of the teenager everyone assumes he is.

"What did you tell her?" Derek asks because Stiles is silent for once, a rarity that last occurred when they both desperately needed a vacation.

"Nothing." Stiles shrugs and at Derek's raised eyebrow, laughs and some life returns to him. "I literally talked at her for three hours about nothing until she was trying to push me out the door."

Derek smiles slightly. He takes a small mouthful, enjoying how it burned his tongue sterile.

"What did you tell Dr. Argent, Detective Hale?" Stiles grins. "Did she sign you up for another visit since all you did was glare at her?"

"Nope. Told her what she wanted to hear." Derek shrugs and has to fight the laugh the alcohol and Stiles' open mouthed surprise inspires.

"What?" Stiles demands. "You actually spoke to another human about your feelings? Gotta admit, I'm feeling a little jelly here."

Derek wrinkled his nose at the slang. Stiles was younger than him by five years, twenty-nine to his thirty-four and too often their younger victims or suspects rubbed off on Stiles. Before jelly, it'd been omg to a bunch of other things Derek can't believe is actually human conversation.

"I'll tell you about it." Stiles perks up. "If you buy dinner."

"We're going to the diner then. I love that place. It's been forever since I've been there. Erica probably thinks we died." Stiles stands up eagerly, all excitement and energy. "Let's go, old man."

The diner is only a couple of blocks from the bar their unit frequents. For as long as SVU has been a squad, the SVU personnel preferred the bar and diner due to their close proximity to each other. Their waitress is Erica, a med student with aspirations of being finished with med school with the bare minimum of loans. A goal Derek wishes her luck with. 

The blonde woman takes one look at them and says, "Seat yourselves, you assholes," and flaunts away to put their usual order in.

"Don't walk away mad baby!" Stiles calls after her. He turns back to Derek and grins widely. "I think she's mad at us."

"She'll get over it." Derek says.

Erica, to be contrary, slams their coffee on the table so hard it sloshes onto the table. "Considerate assholes would have at least shown up to prove they were still alive." She says pointedly.

"Sorry, Erica. But I had that seminar in San Diego and Derek had court for like two weeks because he pissed off Jackson again and then we had to go around to the schools and colleges for a safe sex, relationship thing and then some bastard tried cutting my throat and Derek shot him and the Rat Squad has been so far up our asses I'm thinking of charging them for my it. Then Cap got all paranoid Derek was going to go off the deep end after he tried choking out a suspect, which he totally deserved FYI and then there was mandatory counseling and paperwork. God, Erica. The paperwork." Erica's mouth had slowly fallen open as Stiles rattled off the events of the last month, either in surprise about Stiles' word vomit or the fact Stiles almost died.

Her mouth opened and closed quietly for a few times before anger seized her expression and she glared at them both. "I am going to get you guys some pie. And you will lick the plates clean." She left, throwing dark looks at them occasionally.

"Now she's mad." Derek says.

"I love angry pie." Stiles sighs happily. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Now share! What did you tell the pretty lady doctor?"

"My feelings."

Stiles groans. “Seriously! That’s all you’re going to say?”

Derek smirks.

☆☆☆

Dr. Argent clears them both for active duty again after a quiet word alone with Captain Finstock.

"They depend too much on each other, Bobby." She shakes her head and bites her lip. "If Stiles had died...Derek would be sitting in a cell right now. He told me he was possessive over Stiles. But it's not possession that makes Derek protective of Stiles." 

The emotions they're dancing around go unvoiced. If Bobby awknowledges them, then he has to do something about it.

"Stiles blew a bunch of hot air my way." She bites her lip hard before exhaling loudly. "Stiles uses Derek as an anchor. I think he would have switched units by now if he didn’t have the emotional connection he does to Derek."

Captain Finstock sighs and rubs his face. "Do you think I should split them up?"

Dr. Argent shakes her head. "Not unless you want them both to walk and train wreck." She's half way out the door before she gives her last recommendation. "I'd reccomend it though. If they suggest it. At this pace, it's only a matter of time before they aren't just partners."

☆☆☆

The ADA for Special Victims is Jackson Whittemore. Everyone thinks he's an assface with personality problems, but everyone has heard about how his best friend maybe boyfriend was raped and beaten when he'd been in law school and since that day, he'd been gunning for Special Victims with sneers and mocking and taunting that everyone in the end was grateful for. 

Jackson won approximately 88% of his cases. Damn impressive but he was still an assface.

"If you two are done sucking each other's dicks, I'd like your reports." Jackson says briskly as they enter the perceint. "I have a case to spend too much time on because someone decided choking a confession out of the suspect was a smart move. Stilinski, put a muzzle on your boyfriend."

"This is workplace sexual harassment!" Stiles shouts but digs through his desk for his report.

"So is watching you two eyefuck." Jackson sneers.

"Don't hate." Stiles smirks. "I'm sure Lydia will take you back eventually."

Isaac snorts from his desk. "Scott and I actually wanted to have an intervention concerning that topic, so keep Sunday free Jackson."

Scott comes from the hall with ten folders in his hands. "We should go to IHOP. This is probably a pancake discussion."

"I hate you all." Jackson says flatly and snatches the reports from Derek and Stiles.

"We love and accept you too bro!" Stiles shouts after the fleeing ADA.

☆☆☆

Derek is stress baking, a form of anger therapy when his work phone begins to ring.

(Stiles' did something with yarn and a metal hook and made hundreds of ten by ten squares that had no purpose that Derek knew of. Isaac did some kinky BDSM shit on his down time that everyone casually brought up because the man didn't keep it a dirty secret. Scott, the most sane of the four of them, was a serial dater.) 

He had spent the day staring at dead kids from thirty years ago and can still see their smiling school pictures alongside the crime scene photos and his gut told him only a dozen or more brownies would cure the rage lashing at him. 

He's in his ragged sweats, beat up wife beater and has a bowl of brownie mix in his arms when he finally manages to answer his phone. "I'll be right there."

He arrives in a button down and nice jeans with his favorite leather jacket because it's three AM and he'll probably sleep at the House or go home and fall face first on his couch. Depends what kind of case they've caught and he isn’t particularly concerned about how he looks right now. That’s for tomorrow when he has to show a professional and emotional distant face as he investigates the latest crime merriting SVU treatment.

Stiles is crouching by the girl's body, a steaming coffee pressed to his mouth while another is waiting for Derek at his knee. Stiles is dressed how Derek imagine he would have dressed in college, jeans, band tee and red jacket. He's rubbing his eye while staring at the girl, like he's still dreaming and if he rubs enough she'll disappear.

"Her name was Jane Wilson, sixteen. School ID." Dr. Lydia Martin greets Derek.

He grabs the coffee waiting at Stiles' knee and took a warm sip before zoning on the poor girl.

She was a blonde girl with a sweet face that Derek could too easily imagine smiling and laughing. She was wearing a uniform from St. Jude Academy, her stark white oxford stained red, her black skirt hitched to her mid thigh. Her neck tab tossed on her chest, her shirt unbottoned, her white bra drenched with blood. "Liver temperature suggests she died around seven p.m. Your killer cut her aorta. She bled out in seconds."

"Her necklace is missing." Derek notes.

"Chain was ripped off, gave her bruising." Stiles agrees. "Thinking the killer took it as a trophy?"

"Maybe." Derek shrugs. "Or it got ripped off in a fight."

"Fuck," Stiles says, low and tired. "She's just a kid."

"Right, why we here Martin?" Derek asks, knowing there was something more. There always was to merit SVU attention.

"Underwear torn, semen on her skirt, abdomen and shirt."  
"Ready to go give her parents the worst news of their lives?" Stiles asks grimly.

Derek looked at Jane’s face, her features delicate and small. She reminds him of his youngest sister, who she may have been if she'd lived to turn sixteen. 

"Let's go. They're probably still awake. If they know she's missing."

Mr. and Mrs. Wilson clutch each other's hands, knuckles white, tears heavy in Mrs. Wilson's eyes, Mr. Wilson’s face trembling. Their apartment was comfortablely sized and widely decorate with teddy bear figurines and pictures of Jane and an older boy. Her brother, Derek was guessing. Their features too similar not to be related.

"We, we called the police when she didn't come home by eleven but they said she was probably out with friends. Not to worry yet just because we couldn't get ahold of her." Mr. Wilson explains, woobly.

"I knew something was wrong! Jane always tells us wear she is and who she's with." Mrs. Wilson cries.

Mr. Wilson face shifts, a shadow passing his face. Derek pointedly glances at Stiles who reaches for the crying Mrs. Wilson. "Ma'am, can you show me Jane’s room?"

☆☆☆

Six months after Stiles joined SVU, the captain or ADA could find the four main detectives sitting together at the bar. 

Isaac was already slurring and Scott was speaking too loudly. Stiles was at the point where everything was warm and hilarious, but Derek was content, watching his coworkers make fools of themselves. Somehow, they got into the topic of how they ended up in the unit.

Isaac straightforward tells them, like he would reading from a grocery list, "After my mom died, my dad beat the shit out of me everyday until a cop found out. She encouraged me to go the academy and apply for detective after I aged out from foster care."

Scott snorts into his beer and nearly topples off his chair. "I knew this girl in high school. I was stupid in love with her. Wanted to marry her and have her babies but she didn't give a fuck about who I was. She was date raped by half of the lacrosse team. When she broke down crying about it, she told me to mind my own fucking business when I said to tell a teacher or the police." Scott laughs, an ugly sound. "She broke my heart."

The tone of the evening is mellowing, becoming more somber. "I was just lucky." Stiles shrugs with a grin. "I got tapped by the cap."

"Ex-girlfriend." Derek says and leaves it at that. Let them draw their own conclusions from it.

Derek is reminded of that night for no reason other the way Stiles' eyes meet his, speaking a language Derek had been more than eager to learn. He doesn't think Stiles was lying completely that night about getting tapped by the cap. But he does think maybe the harassment he got in high school is why Cap became interested in his file.

☆☆☆

"Mr. Wilson, is there anything you want to tell me while your wife is in the other room?" Derek asks, voice level and polite.

"My wife, she doesn't-- last weekend when Jane said she was going to her friend Sarah’s, she lied. I don't know where she went. I was trying to get her to tell me, I just thought I'd have more time with my baby girl." The man blinks back his tears. "Jane is, was a good girl. I thought maybe she'd gone to a party and so I didn't tell Jo. Jo worries."

"Derek." Stiles calls.

"Excuse me." He nods and goes towards his partner's voice.

Jane’s room is like most teenage girl's rooms insofar as he can tell. A laptop on the desk, a pastel colored comforter , clothes bulging from her closet and movie posters on the walls.

"Laptop is locked. We gotta drop it by TARU." Stiles waves at the computer, his energy directed to a bunch of letters in an ivory envelopes. "Read one of these.”

\--

It's a sorrowful morning Susie--the wind blows and it rains; "into each life some rain must fall," and I hardly know which falls fastest, the rain without, or within--Oh Susie, I would nestle close to your warm heart, and never hear the wind blow, or the storm beat, again. Is there any room there for me, darling, and will you "love me more if ever you come home"?--it is enough, dear Susie, I know I shall be satisfied. But what can I do towards you?--dearer you cannot be, for I love you so already, that it almost breaks my heart--perhaps I can love you anew, every day of my life, every morning and evening--Oh if you will let me, how happy I shall be!

\--

Derek frowns, "Susie?"

Stiles shrugs. “I already asked Mrs. Wilson if Jane had any nicknames or if it was a webname but she doesn’t know. Romantic though, huh? Reminds me of something I read once for an English class.”

"Very." Derek says flatly. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

"Don’t think you fool me." Stiles scoffs with a smile lurking around his mouth. “I know your heart fluttered when you read it.” He taps the letter again. “Thick paper, calligraphy writing. This is a love letter. A letter she kept hidden from her parents.”

"Makes sense with what the dad told me. Jane has been sneaking around her parents' backs."

"I'm thinking a visit to the school is in order." Stiles says.

☆☆☆

St. Jude's is one of the more pricy private schools their cases have taken them. Maybe surpassing Hawthorn Academy by a donor or two, and Hawthorn had been home to children geniuses. The grounds were painstakingly cared for and the inside of the school was, in Stiles' words, "Shiny."

They find the admin office easy enough with the dean swearing Jane was a good girl through and through. "She helped her teachers after class all the time. She was a sweet girl. She was involved in sports. She did a lot of community service projects and helped our sister school's academically troubled. God, who would want to hurt her?"

The dean quietly speaks to teachers between classes and at lunch, three girls are brought to the dean's office, crying. 

Derek grimaces. He hates dealing with crying teenage girls. More times than not a teenage girl cries into his chest, Derek as uncomfortable as hell and Stiles smiling in a way he knows means as soon as they're in the car, his partner is going to bust out laughing.

Ashleigh does not disappoint and Derek has a face full of bleached blonde hair that makes him want to sneeze. The redhead, Lucy, is rubbing her sobbing friend's back and cooing. The other bottle blonde, Rachel, has her knees pointed in Stiles direction and is leaning forward on her elbows, face earnest and eager to please. Derek wants to dump Ashleigh in her lap and press his knee against Stiles'.

"Did Jane have problems with anyone? Get into any recent fights?" Stiles asks.

"No!" Ashleigh sobs and Derek tries his very hardest not to grimace.

"How about a boyfriend?" Stiles persists.

Stiles is staring at Rachel and misses the look Lucy darts at Rachel's back. But it's why they question like this. The girls' attention would primarily be on Stiles, allowing Derek to observe the small body tics that could give them a lead. Even now, he's thinking of Lucy as a deer to corner alone.

"No, sir. Her mom didn't allow her to date." Rachel denies. “Mrs. Wilson wanted Jane to focus on school. She wanted to be a doctor.”

In Derek's experience, nearly always that meant the girl in question not only had a boyfriend but had been sexually active for awhile. He resisted the urge to sigh. The times the case was ended up being a teenage romance gone sour were too numerous. If parents would just talk tot their children, open the lines of communication instead of shutting them down, maybe more of them would be alive. 

"So who was the weakest link?" Stiles asks when the girls leave.

"Lucy." Derek says.

“Then we know who we’re talking to next!” Stiles says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the case would have reminded some reader eerily of Sherlock Holmes (Susie) and John Watson (Jane) as the case progressed. Unfortunately, I could never get past the case. I liked the humorous bits and sighed a lot when it came to the case. I seriously changed three times.


	12. because a boy loves you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one would have been a massive crossover with Lost Girl and Supernatural, except I don't write massive fics. Nope.

After the news broadcasts and demons began to walk the streets with the strut of triumph and cruelty, a law passes. They name the law. The politicians do. Something complicated that no one remembers or says when they are in hurry. Much like how N1H1 is casually remembered as swine flu. This new law is called Winchester Law. It's a simple law and boils down to: kill anything that threatens the survival of the human race. There's men and women, however, that don't stop at what is necessary for survival. There's these extremists that believe people like witches, werewolves and the fey all deserve to die because they threaten the human race with something worse than death -- genetics. 

There's a story of two brothers that smaller towns know and hunters speak of hushed. The Winchesters.

“Two fine men,” people would say, “Victims of ghosts, demons and human cruelty. They fight the darkness for humanity. They always do what’s right.” The hunters speak of two little boys raised to be soldiers before being men. Of how one brother remained human and the other the vessel for evil: Lucifer.

The little towns call the Winchester Law so out of good faith and remembrance of good men. The hunters call it so to always remember friends can be monsters too. 

The Argents are widely known hunters. Their speciality is werewolves, but the men of the bloodline are known to dabble in other arenas. They're good about keeping in touch as well. So when the Argents fall off the grid, someone is sent to investigate. 

"Last anyone heard, they were in this town." A hunter tapped the map. A small town in California, high in the mountains and surrounded by forest, named Beacon Hills.

"Argent had been sporadically giving updates. Enough to keep in touch. Then he got in a fight with his daddy. James puts it the old man went Winchester on him." The hunter spit chew out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Had to put him and his wife down. He retired. Put the word out that his baby girl would take up the mantle in a few years. That was two years ago. Since then, he's been good at keeping in touch. Then this law happens and well," he smiled grimly. "Argent's body is found and his baby girl is reaping lost souls that come near the town with her boyfriend and best friend."

"Suspicious behavior or revenge?" A man asked.

The new Argent’s choice of compainionship wasn’t unusual. Lone hunters didn’t last long in the game. Family was the best to have watch your back, but a lover was a good second. The things a lover would do were unmeasurable. The friend even wasn’t a bad choice. There were demons and spirits that preyed on the wife-husband hunters more easily than the ones with a impartial third wheel. It wasn’t a bad set up for a beginning hunter with no family left. 

  
"A little bit of both." The hunter said. "That's why we're deploying a friendly envoy. To see if Miss Argent is in need." He smiled, bearing tar stained teeth. "Or if she is need to be put down." 

The little California town they were speaking of is idyllic. A peaceful place to raise family and really set your roots down to grow. The crime rate was low and mostly involved rebellious teenagers, DUIs, domestic home calls and the occasional wild life intervention than anything like murder or armed robbery. Beacon Hills could boast in fact that no one has died of suspicious causes since 1974 when Mrs. Travers poisoned her husband until recently. Overall, the unwary knew Beacon Hills to be peaceful.

The wary, however, knew better.

They knew the recent death toll most of the town residents were keen on ignoring were in fact malicious. There was so much death that everyone had ghosts waiting behind their eyelids. 

  
But even the wary knew Beacon Hills to be safe. At least safer than other towns and cities. The demons -- "We call them fey. Mostly." Derek explains grimly. -- had taken wide human acknowledgment as a declaration of war. No longer did they fight from the shadows. But a few select residents of the town understood Beacon Hills to be relatively safe due to the werewolf pack that called the town home. The werewolves defended the town fiercely, refusing to allow any monster settle to feast on their people.

"It isn't noble." Peter said absently. "It's instinct." His lips curled in disgust. "Territorial."

For two years, before Hell on Earth became more than a saying, Beacon Hills pack had been on the defense. 

The hidden battles forced Lydia Martin to grow as a witch. Allison Argent -- the only Argent some hunters grow to meet with awe -- is a linchpin in Northern California. Stiles has his own brand of magic -- "It's shamanism." He finally explained irritated and Derek snorts in disbelief while the others take his words for plain value.

The werewolves have grown to legal adult age and are stronger, better than they used to be if not unscarred.

There's once sweet faced Scott with puppy eyes and the ability to melt hearts with wicked scars across his face, hiding the sweetheart with a stubborn set of righteousness in his jaw. Isaac and his once shy smiles have turned into wary and tight expression, belaying his tension as he learns the rules to the new world. Once, Derek would have said Erica's bravery and empathy were her strengths. Now no one can doubt her reckless bravery -- "She has a death wish and everyone knows it." Isaac murmured softly. -- or her casual disregard for human life.

"They aren't pack." She said flatly of the humans Derek tasked her to protect. "They're a weakness. If they can’t fight, they deserve to die. Only the strong should live." She flung hand toward the distance. “Like Stiles and Lydia and even Allison. The world got mean and they got meaner. That’s how it should be done.”

  
Boyd had always been a protector and caretaker for the pack, especially Isaac and Erica. As the two withdraw and become tempered steel versions of themselves, he bears the full weight the hearts his pack mates have been forced to shrug aside. 

  
The only lives to rise from the ashes belonged to the Hale men. Derek is more than apt at surviving this bloodthirsty world of fire and brimstone. He fights and doesn't tire. He faces cruelty and emotional bondage and stands up to growl for more with a taunt banking in him. Peter, is a predator among like predators, smiles and snarls. "It's refreshing." Peter said soft. "To be done with human disguises." 

  
Beacon Hills does not consider itself safe. There is no such certainty anymore. But they believe themselves fortunate. Lucky that they were not being hit as hard as the others. Until of course, a hunter came to town with a chip on his shoulder to weigh a man to the earth's core. 

  
In those desperate weeks, trying to survive, keep alive and safe and hidden, the pack is forced apart. As all good things must end.

  
*

  
"Promise me, you'll protect him with your life." John demanded. "You'll keep him alive. No matter what. I don't care if he hates you by the end or if you have to break both his legs, keep him alive." 

  
Derek's mouth is dry as John shoves a small duffel bag into his arms. The memory of a witchfinder and Deaton is barely just--

All he can think of is the smell of Deaton's flesh when they set the pyre on fire to "cleanse" his soul. It hadn't mattered that Deaton was apart of the community for seventeen years, or that he only used his gift in defense of Beacon Hills. The witchfinder screamed witch and Beacon Hills said, "Burn him."

“He’s all I have left.” John said with the quiet of desperate man. “They’re going to go after Scott and Isaac next because he worked with Dr. Deaton. Owens might miss the fact they’re werewolves. He won’t miss Stiles.”

“No.” Derek agreed. “He won’t.”

Stiles blazed where Deaton burned. Their magic was similar: a mishmash of different cultures. But that was the end of their similarities. Stiles used magic Deaton had no taste for and Deaton used magic Stiles didn’t have a gentle touch for. Stiles’ will fierce and unstoppable like the sun rising every morning. Derek has lost count of the times he was sure they were dead only to have Stiles show up with a trick. Stiles would be found. 

“Make it hard for them. Split up and then regroup. It’s harder to follow multiply trails than just one.” John said. His jaw clenched and unclenched. His eyes were distinctly watery.

Derek nodded and shoved the duffel in his car. He knew hunting. It went against every single one of his instincts to split the pack up, and that more than anything convinced him that was exactly what he needed to do. Hunters knew how his kind worked. It was how the Argents kept finding the Hales.

“I’ll take care of him.” Derek promised. “Does he know?”

John smiled grimly. “I already said my goodbyes. But is he expecting you? No. Pick him up and leave. Don’t look back. Call me when you’re out of the state.”

*

The idea festers on the drive to the high school. They need to split up. All of them. He trusts each member of his pack with his life, but his grip on the steering wheel forces him to face the fact he doesn’t trust them with their own safety. The thought of sending any of his betas alone into the world terrifies him. But it has to be done.

The school parking lot is half empty. The fey attempting to retake the world had not been kind on vechiles. The showy sport cars and light frame cars have long been turned to scrap. Cars like Stiles’ Jeep and SUVs are the new vechiles to covet. Rumor has it Ford was engineering a car capable of undergoing hard use like driving through a demon pit but as far as Derek was aware, it was rumor.

Classes are still in session. He can hear teachers lecturing, students speaking quietly and low thrum of heartbeats like a distant concert.

He waits for the passing period bell to ring, angry and unable to make the decisions he needs to. “Scott. I need you.” He says, knowing all the werewolves can hear him even over the voices of their classmates, lockers slamming and heavy footfalls. “Just Scott.”

The bell rings again and five minutes later, Scott is walking towards him. His hood is up and his hands are in his pocket. Derek doesn’t flinch but he wants to. It’s nearly summer and Scott is dressed like it’s winter. The scars that the wendigo left earlier in the spring having reached deep.

“Hey.” Scott nods. “What do you need?”

Derek stays silent for a long moment. Unable to say it, but needing to. As an alpha, Derek had a responsibility to keep his pack safe. No matter what. 

“I need you to get Lydia and Allison out of here.” Derek finally manages.

Scott visible starts, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. The shaggy hair making a reapperance after too many weeks of being on constant alert.

“The witchfinder, Owens, he’s going to find Lydia. He’s going to interview you. See if you were Deaton’s apprentice. Then he’ll interview your friends to see if you’re lying about Deaton.” Derek clenches his fists. “Lydia can’t be here. And if Owens finds out Allison is friends with Lydia? She won’t be safe either.”

“Derek—“

“You need to do this, Scott.” Derek says firmly. “For your pack. Take them both and run. Follow Allison’s lead. Her role as an Argent will shield you and Lydia. But you can’t stay here. Too many people have connected to you – us – to the supernatural shit that’s gone on in the past year.”

Scott’s fists are in balls and his scent is layers of fear, anger and grief. “I can’t leave my mom. I can’t leave Stiles. I can’t—“

“You have to.” Derek interrupts. “Your mom will be safe. She’s human. And Stiles is leaving too.”

“She won’t be safe from the demons.” Scott argues. “I can’t just leave.”

“Scott.” Derek says, seriously, looking his beta in both eyes. “I’m ordering you as your alpha to take Lydia and Allison and leave Beacon Hills by tonight.” Derek feels the power of the alpha change his eyes red, Scott’s answering eyes amber. 

“Derek—“ Scott says angrily. 

“Go. Return back to class.” Derek continues to order. “Tell no one of this conversation until tonight.”

Scott growls and snarls and his body jerkily moves back towards the school. “Scott. No matter what, you’re still apart of my pack. You’re still apart of the Beacon Hills pack.”

*

He texts Boyd, Erica and Isaac to meet him at the cemetry. Derek doesn’t know when he’ll be here again and he wants to say goodbye to his family while he can. Seeing the eight headstones with the name Hale emblazed on them always fills him with grief, but fills him with determination now.

He refuses to allow it to happen again.

That’s why he needs to do this.

“Creepy.” Erica comments. “We couldn’t have done this somewhere else?”

Boyd sends her a disapproving look, but she doesn’t even flinch. Like Scott, Erica bore scars from the wendigo. The wendigo had nearly killed them both. Its claws touching the bone, splitting muscle and skin like wet newspaper. If Lydia hadn’t been with Erica, Erica would be dead. The scars across her throat making her voice raspier and harsh.

Isaac like Derek was unscarred by recent events. He could pass for a fortunate human, scared and shy. At least Derek hopes.

He hopes that Boyd will anchor Erica and Isaac. He hopes Erica fights for Boyd and Isaac as fiercely as she wields her words. He hopes Isaac can help Boyd and Erica pass as human. It isn’t the best situation.

He wishes he could send Isaac and Scott with Allison and Lydia with Boyd and Erica, but he didn’t trust those dynamics long term. And he had to think long term. He knew Scott, Allison and Lydia would die for each like Erica, Boyd, and Isaac would. He trusted them to take care of each other rather than survive each other.

Isaac takes one deep breathe and freezes. “Derek.” He sounds broken and lost already.

Derek should have made time for an explanation. He should have warned them. He should have but that would have destroyed the plan. He wants to blame Melissa and John for telling him to keep it a surprise, but knows he only has himself to blame.

It was his choice to keep them in the dark and now he has to face his decision. Boyd is next to understand. He rests a hand around Isaac’s neck, lending support and strength.

Erica scoffs. “No way. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“You guys are leaving.” Derek says flatly. 

“Derek!” Isaac protests a whine chasing his name.

“The Camaro has everything you’ll need to get you out of the country.” Derek continues over Isaac’s whines and Erica’s tearing eyes. “Under the passenger seat are plans and a cell phone. Pick one. I’ll call you when I can.”

“Derek, you can’t just tell us to go.” Boyd says.

Erica is turned towards Boyd, her face pressed against his chest and Derek can smell her tears. The grief and anger that had filled Scott. 

“Yes. Yes I can.” Derek says fiercely. “As your alpha, I am ordering you three to leave. Leave Beacon Hills right now and don’t come back until I tell you too.”

Isaac chokes. Boyd’s is frozen, unable to comfort Erica as they watch their world for two years fall down. He had promised them they’d never be alone again. And he was keeping that promise the best he knew how. He never told them he’d be there with them. Just that they wouldn’t be alone.

“You have each other. Boyd, you’ll keep them out of trouble.” He meets Boyd’s eyes and sees the amber. He nods past the lump in his throat, because he will make it an order. “Erica, you will keep them and yourself alive to the best of your ability. Look at me Erica. You will.” Her amber eyes are especially luminous due to her tears. “Isaac, keep them human.” Isaac is still to pale, but his amber eyes flare in acceptance of an order from his alpha.“I believe in you three and your ability.” Derek continues softer. “You’ll be fine. You’re still mine. But it isn’t safe here anymore.”

“We’re going to give being a long distance pack a try?” Boyd says hesitantly.

“Exactly.” Derek says, relieved. “I’m still your alpha. We just can’t be together for awhile.”

Erica relaxes slightly and Isaac follows after a few seconds of judging Derek’s sincerity. They hug him like then never has a group, like they’re terrified of losing him and each other and the overwhelming sense of family. He doesn’t want to leave them and he’s held by the terror that this might not work and he might not see these three again. He hugs them all the tighter despite how it makes him feel raw.

*

Derek watches Scott hug Stiles goodbye.

Too long and too tight for it to be anything but goodbye. He can hear Stiles exclaim in surprise and his jokes, but squeezing Scott back despite his confusion. Derek leans against the driver’s side of the Jeep, the spare key John handed him like a stone in his pocket.

Stiles isn’t going to be happy. Derek lacks the words to expound on how unhappy Stiles was going to be. Melissa had joked about giving Derek a sedative for Stiles and he wishes he taken her seriously. 

Stiles approaches in the same red hoodie he’s worn since Derek met him. It’s so threadbare Derek wouldn’t put it past Stiles to keep it together with magic. His hair is cropped short after a few seasons of having it grown out. There were claw marks on the side of his head, scars, left by a sunbird intent on devouring Stiles’ and Lydia’s magic for it’s own use where his hair refused to grow.

Stiles hadn’t gotten taller, but he did learn to stand up straight and with confidence, making the small height difference between him and Derek seem non existant. Stiles was remarkably unharmed by the past two years. His magic healing and protecting him. Even mentally, Stiles was more likely to smile and bitch at Derek than stare drolly and silently.

Stiles was Derek’s meter for how fucked up the world was. Stiles adapted and was still himself. The others had all gotten hard and cold. Derek knew he put them all through too much the day Stiles stopped bitching about Derek’s bloodstained clothing and his lack of respectability. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, his face over antimated with his suspcision. “The last time you picked me up for school was so you could tell me about the giant dent Erica put in my Jeep hitting an evil alpha.”

“Get in the car.” Derek sighs. 

“Uh, my Jeep. I drive. Like how you drive your Camaro. Derek drives his Camaro. Stiles drives his Jeep.” Stiles jingles his keys. “See how that works?”

“Stiles,” Derek says dangerously.

Damn the days the kid used to actually be afraid of him. “Get in the car. Before I knock you unconcious and force you.”

Stiles jerks back alarmed and begins casting pathetic glances at his classmates that have all long since learned to ignore Derek and his presecne on campus. Derek smiles pleasantly in ways that hurt his face but is so worth it to scent Stiles’ fear. “I have your dad’s permission. Now get in the car.”

*

Stiles hasn’t spoken to him two days. Beacon Hills long behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then Stiles and Derek go to Canada and meet Bo and Co. Stiles and Kenzi become bffs. The band gets back together when BH becomes over run and they take their new skills and friendships and kick ass.


	13. C'mon, Let Me Ride Your Bicycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek grows up in BH, the best friend of one Stiles, and then one night they hear a scream in the woods... Role reversal. Scott and Derek switched places.

"Did you hear that?" Derek demands. 

"Hear what?" Stiles whines. "Another rabbit being murdered by a bunch of coyotes? Because that's not strange. That's been pretty normal lately. Or trash being knocked around? Because bears have been known to come into town or bucks fighting. Let's be fair, you wouldn't even be able to hear anything if you didn't live in the perserve."

Derek listens to his best friend ramble a little impressed. Stiles wasn't even awake. Not really. His eyes were more closed than open and while he was sitting up, he was doing so only because he was leaning heavily against Derek. 

"It sounded like someone screaming for help." Derek feels obligated to say. Somewhat apologetic. Stiles' prescription made his already poor sleeping habits worse. Hence why Derek was wide awake on energy drinks and Stiles was sleepily awake because of insomnia. 

"Fine." Stiles yawns until his jaw cracks. "Lead on Batman." 

Derek watches his best friend since kindergarten stumble around, attempting to put socks and shoes on, forgetting about his pants, and putting his hoodie on backwards and preceding to fight with the hood smacking him in the face. Derek wouldn't be Stiles' best friend if he fixed it for him and instead continues to watch. He's the bestest friend for that.

"Eugh. Fine. Whatever." Stiles huffs. 

Stiles settles with his hood in his face and a sulk. "Let's go look for the stupid hiker that should know better because the preserve says "beware of mountain lions, rockslides and bears." Jesus."

"When you put it that way," Derek says sarcastically. 

"So back to bed?" Stiles asks hopefully.

"No." Derek says cheerfully. He's only this cheerful when bringing torment to others but it wasn't a character flaw until he was in prison. "I drank three energy drinks for your sleepy ass. We're going."

They sneak out of the house. A rather easy feat. Laura went back to New York on Friday before her university started. Peter was always soundly asleep by ten thirty because he was insane and woke up at five a.m. The rest of Derek's family he didn't like thinking about. But Derek will say they died all terribly in a blaze. Or maybe moved to France so his mom and dad could find themselves. It amounted to the same thing sometimes. His younger siblings content to be home schooled in France. 

Weirdos. 

Derek would never want to leave Beacon Hills. Yeah. That's a straight lie. Derek never wants to leave beacon Hills without Stiles. Squeaky, talkative Stiles who Derek had squishy feelings for. Maybe. It could be the burritos making him feel this way. He's content to wait to figure these feelings things out. 

The preserve is quiet. Despite popular belief, Derek doesn't like the quiet. The biggest reason Derek and Stiles are friends. Stiles loves to talk and Derek likes to listen. Ever since they were six and Mrs. Reinhardt made them cubby neighbors. 

"So creepy, Derek!" Stiles groans, but his eyes are beginning to spark mischievously. The last time they did that, Lydia Martin woke up to lawn gnomes covering every inch of her property. Derek's fiercely protective of his friends, well, of his Stiles. Her adamant refusal of Stiles' affections, while appreciated by Derek, were cruel. She deserved something and Stiles had been cheered up at seeing a new Lydia Martin expression. 

Derek didn't understand girls. If Derek wasn't awkward and clumsy and questionable eyebrows, he'd maybe-- never mind. He wouldn't because then things would be ruined between him and Stiles, well, Stiles didn't feel the same way. And if that was the case, Derek was going to have to insist on Stiles not looking at him like pixie dust is trapped behind his eyes. Or something. Derek isn't lying when he says he's confused. 

Feelings are hard. 

"We're going on another adventure!" Stiles cackles. "Let's go!"

Ignoring the fact short of hearing another scream they're looking for a pine needle in a haystack, they shuffle through the woods. They smell fresh and Derek loves the sounds the nocturnal animals make. He sticks close to Stiles because the air is slightly hill and for another reason. 

"Sophomore year tomorrow." Stiles says. "Nervous?" 

Derek shakes his head. He has Stiles and he has his bike. He's more prepared than most. Anything else he can handle. Maybe. Most likely.

"I think we should be." Stiles shrugs. "But then I remember life has improved since then. For one, I have a Jeep." 

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles' dad managed to pull some strings and at fifteen and a half, Stiles has his license. It was restricted but he had one. The jeep was blue and beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic plot? Derek get bitten and lives in denial while some creepy guy with earnest and sincere branded on his forehead named Scott keeps trying to mother him. Scott and Allison have an adult relationship/feud because Scott is a werewolf hunter and Allison is a werewolf hunter. The alpha would have been Melissa McCall. The scream? One of Allison's hunters. Melissa was going back to BH for tragic love story reasons, but was crazy from brain damage, etc.


	14. Scott's Pack and Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stopped watching TW at 3.17 for a long time. Needless to say I was horrified when I learned about Allison and how this little piece was virtually obsolete. Oh well. I still like the relationships between Stiles and Scott and Lydia and Scott In this. So much. And Jackson. I miss Jackson. More than I thought I would.
> 
> Rough draft version. 
> 
> A semi happy outlook on the ending of season 3b. Everyone lives and tries putting their lives back together.

Scott takes care of a lot of people. Sometimes it feels like too many people. It only makes sense to start giving his most precious people to caretakers that will lay their lives down for them, for Scott/. 

Allison and Isaac are an accident and if pressed about who protects who in that partnership, Scott would awkwardly stammer and desperately change the subject. 

As many times as necessary and all the time as long as he doesn't have to answer honestly. But they take care of each other. The girl Scott fell in love with sophomore year died and crawled her way out of the ash like a phoenix, but she isn't the same. She's alive but hard in places she used to be soft and her hard places are diamond now. 

Isaac's presence wraps around Allison like warm blankets so fresh from the dryer the dryer sheet clings to the blankets and smells fresh. Isaac isn't a dick anymore. Still prickly and bitter but that's only to be expected because Derek bit him. 

Derek wasn't drawn to happy and well adjusted kids. 

Allison's shadow gives Isaac the security and purpose he needs to move forward. To become his own person. It pissed him off in the beginning -- still pisses him off to see them together and smell them together. Allison is Scott's. Isaac is Scott's. He didn't want to share either one of them. But the alpha wolf inside, stretching and becoming more aware inside everyday, is smug that the two flank each other. 

His wolf curls up in his heart, half awake. 

He becomes more alert when Scott observes Ethan and Danny together. It makes Scott's skin itch because there's something there that he doesn't understand but his wolf does and he's almost convinced if he could just stare at the two interacting all day he could figure it out. He does stare. In class and at lunch to the point everyone is uncomfortable. 

"What?" Danny asks pointedly. 

He's lost some of his sweetness since Jackson moved. Almost like Jackson gave his good parts to Danny for safe keeping and Danny gave Jackson his prickliness to better defend them both and when Jackson left Danny acted like a widow after returning to his house without his beloved for the first time. So careful to keep things where they belong just in case but a man's gotta let go. 

Which is hypocritical because Scott will fucking lose it if something happens to Stiles. The separation between Jackson and Danny will look like the parting of kindergarten friends after the first day of school if Stiles is taken away or worse, leaves. 

Ethan, though, Ethan/. 

He's not reorganizing the house before Danny is ready, but he's picking up the debris one night stands have left in Danny's mausoleum and slowly moving in. Putting his scars and smiles on display on the walls where Jackson's used to hang and covering empty floors with rugs of strength and tenderness. 

It gives Scott hope, watching Ethan try and try because Danny is an amazing person. Danny smiles and shrugs at things he can't change and smirks and sneers at the things he can. The summer before Jackson was forced away, Scott remembers seeing him trembling and pale at a picnic table outside the perverse waiting for Derek to show between Danny's open legs. A cheek on Danny's denim and claws clutching his calves. It felt intimate. So very personal and Scott had backed away as quickly as he stumbled upon them because it hurt more than Allison being in France and Lydia's rage filled text messages and flirty taunts that have been abundant since Jackson told everyone he was being sent away like the dirty secret he's always suspected he was. 

And still, Danny held his breaking down friend and kept him together. 

Stiles might be on to something when he calls Danny magic because Scott wouldn't have done that. He would have crawled into Stiles' suitcases or locked him up in the basement. Anything besides letting him go. And that's something Scott suspects Ethan needs. Someone to cradle his face and say, "You have a shitty past and I still care about you." 

It's budding relationship Scott and his wolf approve of and want to help breathe life into because the potential is there/. 

Unlike Aiden's relationship with Lydia that raises the alpha wolf's hackles and makes Scott judge more than he judges Derek's shitty life. 

Lydia is a girl wearing the Grim Reaper's robe and Aiden is the guy swinging the scythe. Not exactly a good mix in Scott's opinion and Aiden can't even take care of himself or his twin and Scott isn't going to trust his banshee with him. No way. 

Scott will hold Lydia's hand for the rest of their lives, trailing behind her if he has to if it means Aiden is out of the picture. It sucks for the twins that they're both trying to fill the holes Jackson left behind and while Ethan is adept, Aiden is all Jackson's cruelty and selfishness and none of his sacrifice when it comes to Lydia. 

For Lydia, Jackson would kill and die and rip open his rib cage to give Lydia a safe place to breathe and rest from all the supernatural shit going on. Scott has half a mind to write Jackson and tell him what is happening to his princess because he would come back if it meant swimming across the Atlantic in a inflatable raft and hitchhiking back to the west coast. But the occasional message from Jackson seeking advice makes Scott grit his teeth and bide his time because he's so close to being exactly/ what Lydia needs rather than close to it. 

Instead Scott spends nights on Lydia's roof and sits with her at lunch like a bodyguard and holds her hand when she hears death omens and struggles to help her decipher what they mean. His wolf likens her to a cub, their baby that needs to be watched and protected until she figures out how her fangs and claws work. 

Ethan catches on first and bosses Aiden around, "Figure it out! His job is to protect his pack! A sick wolf can drag the others down and you and Lydia aren't okay." Maybe Aiden will piece himself back together for himself and his brother but Scott won't hold his breathe that it'll be for Lydia. 

Lydia is just one of his people he protects and cares for. There's Kira and Stiles and his mom and--

And too many ands. 

His mom can handle herself he's learning. Between Rafael (not dad because it's too late for him to be one but he can be a useful ally, maybe) and Sheriff Stilinski his mom is protected. Especially with Isaac and Scott calling her mom. She's someone he'll always worry about because she's his mom/ but his stomach doesn't roll in anxiety anymore. 

Kira isn't his yet, but she will be. Her vulpine protector is still flicking it's tails at his wolf, testing his commitment and power. Foxes are solitary creatures, but humans and wolves aren't and as much as her fox sniffs and ignores Scott and his pack Kira blooms under Scott's attention. Body vibrating with power and eagerness to prove herself under him. 

It makes him grin, because she eyes Lydia weary, not sure how a mostly grown woman fits into her romantic relationship with Scott but his wolf has sunken his fangs in the kistnue's many tails, declaring mine mine mine. 

And Stiles--

Stiles is a filthy liar/ and Scott's first packmate and his brother and his first loyalty and shit. Stiles is labeled EVERYTHING and his wolf only sleeps in a den inside of Scott that smells like StilesandScott and acts like a cornered animal when Stiles bleeds anxiety and prances like Moon Moon when he laughs and loves loves loves like the wolf can only love one person. Their brother and reminder why they wake up and fight at all and-- he's someone Scott refuses to lose. 

He'll do anything and he avoids everyone's eyes when they pause and echo, "Anything?" Because he's mostly monster now and if he has to bite Stiles and make him Scott's in all ways to keep him, if he has to mount -- his wolf licks his lips -- him and drive into his body to keep him, Scott will. 

Not that Scott necessarily wants to. He loves Stiles and always will, but if romance is going to bloom (as bizarre and unlikely that is and how it makes his nose scrunch up at the thought because Stiles would be delicious, a delicious incestful treat and Scott gets creeped out, being a werewolf is a mix between wanting to fight and fuck everyone he's discovered) between them Scott wants it to be because they want it not because of his possessive alpha wolf. And that's IF. The big IF. 

So he scouts the werewolves sneaking into his pack and weights them and finds them wanting because Stiles is most precious and nothing can happen to him ever, when Derek says, "You'll kill for him, but will you die for him?" And his wolf is electrified to attentiveness because yes, yes, yes, Derek has laid his life down for Stiles before, tucking him in safety and keeping him safe which is all Scott wants for Stiles. 

Derek gets/ it.

The nogistune tried devouring Stiles whole, except Stiles is an asshole on the best of days and made the demon choke on him. Made him work hard for every piece of ground he wanted to conqueror, stalling so Scott and the pack could save him. But there's scars. 

Never in a million of years would Scott describe Stiles as fragile and suddenly he is and Scott doesn't know what to do and because Derek's never failed him -- sometimes disappointed him, but never failed him -- he asks for help.

"I'm not stupid or blind," Scott tells Derek angry. "I can see that the past year is hurting him-- has hurt them all. I can feel it. That if I were still human, I'd be just like them. Traumatized and fucked up but I have the wolf and I all I want to tell him is I'm here and that won't help. Not how he needs it. He's human and doesn't have that mental shield to protect him and--"

"Scott," Derek claps a hand on his shoulder. "I get it."

Scott oversees Derek and Stiles from a distance because he's worried and jealous, but ultimately because he wants the reassurance that his brother will be okay. 

Stiles is apart from everyone else. 

Distanced physically and Scott fears emotionally and he has no clue how to bridge that gap. Derek walks over to Stiles like it's that fucking easy and sits down next to him. Stiles looks at him curiously before returning his attention to something only he can. Scott can't really hear what they're saying. 

Just whispers of their words here and there, "I wondered why the nogistune didn't posses someone with power--" Derek starts and Scott panics because telling someone they're a ball of human fluff in the middle of scary monsters isn't the way to start a good conversation and he can't believe how hopeless Derek is and did he really think this was a good idea -- "And then I realized I was wrong. You're at the center of everything. You went missing and everyone went into panic because you were gone and you're important." 

If Scott focuses and Kira gives him a look for eavesdropping but this is Stiles and his heartbeat is beating faster and is swallowing hard. "Without you, everyone falls down." 

"Stop it," Lydia huffs when she realizes what's captured Scott's attention. 

"I just don't want him to fuck it up." Scott grumbles.

"You need to trust a little." Lydia says. "And have faith. They're idiots but Stiles is a smart idiot and Derek is a protective idiot. They'll be fine. Now give me attention." 

Scott is laughing and dancing off beat with Kira and Lydia, Stiles' heartbeat present in his ears, and when it goes crazy Scott whips his attention to his brother who's leaning against Derek, shaking and there's salty tears he can smell that make him whine and he's hardly taken a step forward before Kira holds him from behind by the waist, her hands holding his waist down and she may not be super strong but there's the hum of power in her fingers speaking of a gentle rebuke and Lydia has him firmly by the chin, her nails digging in. 

"He's safe and he's going to be fine." Lydia says harshly.

Derek has pulled Stiles into his arms while Scott helpless stared at Lydia's green eyes and is petting him now, sobs wracking Stiles in a way Scott has never heard. Not when Scott almost murdered him, not when when the kanima almost killed them, not when Ms. Blake had his dad captive somewhere and not when the nogitune was infecting his mind. 

Kira gasps, soft and sad, "I wonder how long he's been holding that in."

Scott is wondering the same thing. It irritates him Stiles is so capable of hiding his pain like it doesn't matter, like Stiles doesn't matter, and as much Scott gets it it still makes him want to chew on Stiles' face because that's the core of his best friend -- protecting everyone. How many times has Stiles asked Scott not to call his dad when there was big fucking trouble? Or how many times has Stiles tried intimidating people bigger, scarier and just fucking meaner than him? It's terrifying how Stiles takes a step forward when anyone else sane would be high tailing it the opposite way. Stiles is terrifying. 

"He doesn't like the attention." Lydia informs Kira. "You'll notice how he sometimes just...fades into the background."

Lydia's face is twisted in understanding and Scott remembers sophomore year how Lydia craved all eyes on her. The red lips, the shorts hem, high heels and stylish hair all to perfection. And now, the end of junior year and Lydia shrinks when eyes touch her too long and wears her dresses and makeup and accessories like war paint. 

He thinks of Allison. Pretty indie girl Allison with long hair she cut because it was a liability and tossed the necklaces and bangles and layers because all that extra stuff was enough to kill her in a fight for her life. He thinks of the hunter she's turned into that ghosts in and out of the school's halls and classrooms and when he asks her homeroom classmates if she was present and they blank on her name. 

His humans like to tread soft and pretend they don't exist and it pisses him off because they're the best people. Everyone should know them and lavish them in praise. Scott should, and he vows he will.

Stiles cries are tapering off, and Derek's voice is a lullaby that is slowly making Scott relax. "Whatever he's saying seems to be working." Kira points out.

Lydia loses the tightens in her face and smirks, "If we could understand Derek I'm sure we'd be horrified. He's so inept."

"But it's Stiles," Scott grins and his wolf is on the verge of pairing Stiles and Derek together and putting them on the back burner while he figures out the rest of his pack. "If Derek wasn't awkward then Stiles wouldn't be comfortable." But doesn't because he trusts Derek will try keeping Stiles safe, but Stiles is the MOST important person and Scott refuses to rely on try.

***

Scott hoards Stiles in his room. He keeps his friend in his bed underneath his comfortor and body. Stiles has a lot of sleep to catch up on and dozes best surrounded by all things Scott and it pleases the wolf and keeps Scott high on endorphins. 

His, his, his. 

"You two are ridiculous." Lydia says flatly inviting herself in. 

She hops on the bed in her shorts and oversized sweater and snuggles between them. Stiles' scent doesn't flair with arousal like it usual does around Lydia, but with something sweet that Scott has accompanied with feelings of home and family. When did that happen? And announces, "This is why everyone thinks you're having having sex."

"Equal opportunity," Stiles mumbles half hearted my and stuffs his face in Lydia's hair and throws an arm across her to clutch onto Scott. 

Scott snorts and waggles eyebrows to make her laugh, "We could be if Stiles didn't keep citing incest laws at me." 

"Your parents are fucking then?" Lydia asks with no grace just to see his mortification. 

"Yes," Scott grumbles. "With Stiles' dad even."

"What?" Lydia asks before dissolving into laughter with her whole body. 

"Very traumatizing," Stiles mumbles. "Stilinskis and McCalls are drawn together in all sorts of fun ways."

"Now that Rafael knows about things," Scott's face is pained. Before this he didn't need therapy and now he needs all of it. All the world of therapy. "They've been playing house here. I don't even remember the last time Stiles and his dad went home."

"Like a week ago," Stiles sighs. "Stilinskis are catnip to McCalls."

Lydia hums, contentment drifting off her like a lazy cat. Stiles' breathing slows again. Slipping back into sleep between on heart beat the next. Lydia shifts to her side and she rests her check against Stiles' head and presses her back against Scott's front. 

She sighs, a little pleased sound he didn't think Lydia would ever remember how to make, and pets Stiles' hair and insanely, Scott can hear her pur, "Well done my pet," and he buries a grin in the crook of her neck and shoulder and wraps an arm around her waist and links pinkys with Stiles newly dislodged hand. He's blissed out and the only way it could be better is he could take their scents and suck on it. That'd be the best tic-tac flavor hands down. 

His wolf is an ass, an alpha ass who does things before Scott can decide properly, and he's kissing --if the word applies to pleased puffs of air pressed to skin, lips mouthing rather than puckering and not licking but not-not licking either -- Lydia's shoulder. She tastes like lotion but the smell fades in a few swipes and he can't put his finger on it, but her skin is making him thinking about Stiles' and where her taste would be better and purer, tastier. Scott thinking a about licking into her mouth -- she put her hands in his hair once like a pale skinned tree putting down roots -- and his wolf is thinking about licking into her cun--

"No," she flicks him breaking him from his daydream.

"Dude, do we have to talk about sexual harassment again?" Stiles whines. "No means no."

Meekly, Scott says, "Sorry!" 

But he doesn't losen his hold on them for a second. 

***

"What do you want from me?" Derek asks. He sounds tired and smells frustrated and exghasted. Scott shifts and tries to think human. 

Scott grows and learns with every full moon, and he starts seeing things as they are because no one else seemingly can. "It's what makes you a true alpha." Deaton says quietly. "You don't just see things as they are but what they can/ be."

"I want your to better than you are," Scott says brutally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession. I started off in the TW as a Stiles/Scott shipper. Uh oh, Derek. I never could suss out how I wanted this to end. Scott/Everyone? Scott/Stiles/Lydia/Kira? Stiles/Derek? Oh well. Scott is turning into my new favorite.


End file.
